Who is this Angel?
by Orli's EEPs Chica
Summary: Meg Giry is among those who enters the cellars of the opera, searching for the phantom. When she finds herself trapped with him, can they learn to live together, or will their anger tear them apart? MegErik pairing R&R!Updated June 28th
1. Prologue Track Down this Murderer

Prologue- Track Down This Murderer

"_...Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime_

_Lead me, save me from my solitude..._

_Say you'll want me with you here, beside you_

_Anywhere you go let me go too..._

_Christine, that's all I ask of you........"_

Shocked screams filled the opera house as the young prima donna, Christine Daae, ripped off the mask of the man on stage, revealing not a normal human face, but the face of a monster.

Off stage, a short, slim blonde dancer stifled her own scream as the phantom grabbed her friend and pulled a hidden lever. Christine and the phantom fell, through a trap door, down into the darkness of the opera house cellar.

More screams came as the huge chandelier fell, as if in slow motion, crashing down with the sound of ten thousand crystals shattering as they hit the floor. The chandelier burst into flames, consuming the fine velvet-covered chairs and moving toward the stage.

The dancer heard footsteps thundering toward her.

"Where did he take her?" a masculine voice shouted.

A tall woman in a rigid black dress came forward, looking frantic. "Come with me, monsieur. I will take you to him- but remember: keep your hand at the level of your eye!"

They began to hurry away from the stage.

The blonde girl followed them. "I'll come with you!" she said.

The woman in black shook her head. "No Meg, no- you must stay here!" She jerked the man suddenly down a corridor. "Come with me, monsieur!" She looked back at Meg, who was still following. "Do as I say!" she said sharply.

"No!" said Meg defiantly, but Madame Giry didn't hear her. She stopped and turned back. There had to be another way down into the labyrinth. Heading back toward the burning theatre, Meg heard raised voices. An angry mob of dancers and stagehands were carrying torches and heading down toward the cellars. Meg joined them eagerly, working her way to the front of the group.

When they came to the shallow lake, they began to wade through the dirty water, torches held high, looking for any sign of the phantom.

Meg's heart was pounding- she prayed they would find him in time to save Christine. As they neared the phantom's lair, Meg could have sworn she heard an anguished voice, crying out... but what it said, she couldn't figure out.

Up ahead, she could see candles burning, and the outline of what seemed to be a shore. Meg sped up, moving as fast as she could through the murky water. She was the first one to step out of the lake, into the cave-like lair that was the phantom's home.

There was an organ, surrounded by dying candles, a wedding veil.... lying next to a white half-mask.

Meg bent down and picked the mask up, heart in her mouth.

They had been here, she thought.

She ventured further into the cave, looking for any sign of Christine.

"Christine?" she whispered into the darkness. She thought she heard the sound of a cloak swishing somewhere in front of her.

Meg's breath caught in her throat. She was not alone...

"Christine?" she whispered again.

Silence.

Meg heard the mob moving closer. She had a feeling that the phantom was there with her, hiding. Remembering what little her mother had told her of him, she decided to cover for him. Mme. Giry had said once that the phantom just wanted to be left alone, and that the consequences of anyone entering his domain would be severe. Meg thought it best to get the mobs out, soon.

She turned and met them on the shore. She held up the mask like a shield.

"He's gone," she said loudly.

"What?" asked one of the stagehands. "What do you mean he's gone?"

"He's gone," said Meg again. "There's no one here. We should leave."

It took a little more persuasion, but the mobs agreed to leave. Meg waited until the last of them were on their way out of the lair before departing.

She didn't get far.


	2. Trapped

Chapter 1- Trapped

She had stepped into the water when she heard an ominous cracking noise. She raised her head as a piece of the stone ceiling fell less than a foot from where she stood- landing with a splash in the shallow lake.

Meg screamed as she saw even larger pieces chip off. She tried to move, but found her legs frozen with fear.

Someone pulled her out of the way as a chunk of rock the size of a large boulder fell right where she had been standing. She screamed, closing her eyes.

She felt strong arms encircle her and force her down, felt the weight of a body on top of hers, shielding her from the falling rocks.

A loud roar started as the ceiling collapsed, intensifying as the pieces of rock crumbled. Huddled beneath her "protector", Meg squeezed her eyes shut even tighter and waited to die.

She felt a sudden weight as her "protector" collapsed on her, letting out a sudden grunt of pain, having been hit on the head by one of the rocks.

When the rockslide was over and the lair was silent once again, Meg shakily wriggled out from underneath the man on top of her. She looked at the damage and gasped. A thick, compact pile of rocks blocked the way out. She was virtually trapped here, beneath the Opera House.

Her attention turned to the man that had undoubtedly saved her from the falling rocks. He head was turned so she could only see half of his face. Her heart caught in her throat. This, she knew, could be only one person.

The phantom of the opera.

Meg gasped when she realized that she still held the white, half-mask in her hand. The phantom began to stir. He opened his eyes, and his hand automatically moved to his face.

Meg was frozen in fear as he turned away from her.

He covered the right side of his face before turning back to her.

She flinched when he looked at her.

"Who... are you?" he asked in a deep, anger-trimmed voice, rising to his feet.

Meg cowered against the wall. "M-Meg," she whispered. "Meg Giry."

A look of recognition passed over his face. "You are Antoinette's daughter?"

Meg nodded.  
His gaze dropped to the mask she held in her hand. "Give me my mask," he demanded sharply.

Meg extended a shaking hand, holding it out to him. "Here," she whispered. "I'm sorry..."

He snatched it from her quickly and turned away again to fasten it on. "Why are you here?" he asked scathingly.

"I-I was- I was with the... the people looking for Christine..."

He whirled around, rigid. "Christine is gone," he said in a deadly voice.

Meg nodded. "I know," she said fearfully. "And.... and..." she faltered.

"And what?"

"And we're trapped," said Meg in a small voice.

The phantom looked at what had once been the entrance to his lair. It was now blocked by a thick wall of fallen rocks.

He looked back at Meg.

There was no way out, no way for her to escape. This knowledge seemed to hit her at once. Her knees became shaky, and she swayed in place as a cold, nervous sweat overtook her.

"What am I to do?" she asked softly.

The phantom inhaled sharply. "You will stay here," he said in a commanding tone. "Until I find a way out."

He saw Meg shiver, but she nodded.

"Follow me," he said, taking a candle from the organ, which was miraculously unharmed.

Meg scrambled to her feet, her whole body shaking. The phantom led her down a short hallway into a beautiful bedroom.

"You can stay here," he said, handing the candle over to her. Then, with a swish of the black cloak he wore, he disappeared into the darkness.

Meg shut the door after him, turning the lock. She sat down on the bed, feeling cold and alone and frightened. She was stuck in the dungeons of the opera with a murdering madman who would probably kill her too, like he had killed those people with the chandelier. _Why couldn't I have just listened to mother?_ She asked herself angrily. If she had, she would be safe now- instead of down here, in this cold, dismal place.

Out in the main room, the phantom was surveying the damage. The rocks were piled high, and compacted as well. Breaking out would be anything but easy. He glanced back down the hall, toward the locked door. Again, he had a prisoner in his lair. The world was exceptionally cruel, he thought. After Christine's departure, all he had wanted was to be left alone for the rest of his life. Now this.... he raised his head, looking upward as if praying. In his mind, he cursed whatever deity lived up there in the so-called place known as heaven. He waded out into the water, and tried to shift some of the rock. Maybe if he moved one of the bottom ones.....

He pushed against one of them, muscles tensing as he tried to move it.

No good.

The rock remained immobile. He tried for a while longer to find an easy way out, but there wasn't one.

"Damn it!" he said finally, having just cut his hand on a jagged rock. He turned away from the rocks, and saw Meg, standing at the end of the hallway. He had the sudden impression that she had been watching him.

"What do you want?" he asked, more roughly than he had intended.

"N-nothing," she stumbled, "I- I just... are you all right?" she asked, seeing blood coming out of the cut on his hand.

"Fine," he replied, wading toward the shore, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket to dab the blood away with. He sat down at the organ, seemingly ignoring Meg, tending to his hand. She continued to watch him, unsure what to say or do. He tried to tie the handkerchief to keep it in place, but having the use of only one hand made it difficult. He swore under his breath.

"Here- let me," said Meg, without thinking of what he might do. She knelt down before him, and took the ends of the cloth, knotting them together so that there was pressure on the cut. Her hand brushed over his as she moved her hands away, and he flinched and recoiled.

Meg stood up, her frightened look returning.

She was about to leave, when his voice stopped her.

"We aren't going anywhere soon," he said grimly.

She turned back to face him.

"The rocks," he continued. "They're too hard to shift- there's no other way out."

Meg's heart sank.

They were trapped.

* * *

A/N: like it? hate it? review and let me kno if i should continue! 


	3. Erik

Chapter 2- Erik

_"Chandelier crashes at Paris Opera House! Twenty people dead, nearly ten missing!"_ cried the newsboy standing on the corner. The headlines of all the local newspapers were reporting the news. _"Opera House closed indefinitely!"_ the boy went on.

It was true.

The managers, André and Firmin had announced their resignation immediately after the show. The day after, they were nowhere to be found.

Inside the Opera House, the fires had been extinguished. Most of the theatre had been destroyed- the once-red velvet covered chairs were now burned out frames; the paintings on the domed roof were covered with ash and grime. The bodies of those that had perished had been removed, but there were still many people in the house, searching for the missing. Among them was Madame Giry, looking frantically for her daughter. But as the hours wore on, Meg was nowhere to be found.

The old dance instructor was a wreck- searching each and every room for traces of her daughter.

Christine Daae and Raoul deChagny had come to the Opera House upon hearing of Meg's disappearance, and they too, were helping to search, though they stayed together and didn't dare venture near the cellar.

Finally, when the day was over, they persuaded Madame Giry to return home and rest. Christine feared for the older woman's health- she had inhaled much smoke during the fire, and she had been coughing steadily all day. They promised to return the following day to search for Meg.

* * *

Unaware of the search party upstairs, Meg Giry was sleeping peacefully in her bed in the phantom's lair. She had locked her door to give herself the illusion of safety, but she assumed that the phantom probably had a key. Frightened of him though she was, Meg couldn't help but be curious about the dark, mysterious man who had saved her life. When she woke up, it took her a moment or two to remember everything that had happened. Then it came to her. She was in the phantom's lair, trapped behind a wall of rock that separated her from the outside world. She rolled out of the bed, slipping her feet out from underneath the red velvet comforter onto the cold floor. She shivered, wishing desperately for a cloak or some other covering. The thin dress she had on simply wouldn't do for living down here.

She swallowed hard.

_Living down here._ Spending an indefinite number of days down here, away from the sun, cut off from all of her friends, and her mother.

Her mother.

Her heart sank as she imagined Madame Giry, looking for her, wondering where in heaven's name her daughter was. _Maman, forgive me for not listening_, Meg thought sincerely. If she ever got out, she thought, she would never disobey again. Quietly as she could, Meg padded over to the door, and turned the lock quietly. She opened the door a tiny crack and looked out. Seeing no one, she opened the door a little wider and stepped out into the hall. She heard music, coming from down the hall. Following the sound, she found the phantom sitting trance-like at the organ, playing a soft, mournful melody.

From where she stood, she could only see the unmasked half of his face, and she studied it closely. When looked at from her angle, the phantom could pass for a normal man, thought Meg. He could even be considered handsome- with his strong, finely chiseled face and dark green eyes. She found herself unable to pull her eyes away from him. She didn't notice the music stop, and the phantom's head snap up.

The green eyes turned to look at her, flashing in the candlelight.

Meg gasped.

"Come to stare at the _phantom_?" he asked coldly.

"I- I came t-to say thank you... for saving my life. I-I never got a chance to tell you... yesterday..."

His look softened a little. "You're welcome," he said flatly.

Meg relaxed slightly. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence.

"Do you have a name?" Meg asked timidly.

Her question caught him off guard. "I _had_ a name," he responded.

She cocked her head. "What are you talking about?"

"Why is it any concern of yours?" he asked harshly.

Meg frowned. "Well, for one thing, since we're going to be living down here together for awhile, I just thought.... well, I can't just call you 'phantom', or 'opera ghost', can I?"

"Why not?" he retorted. "That's all you've ever called me before." He imitated a high-pitched, girlish voice that sounded startlingly authentic. " 'Eeek! It's the Opera Ghost! Run and hide before he sees you! _He wears a mask_.... _he has no face_....'" He feigned laughter.

Meg flushed with embarrassment. She knew he was mocking her... all the times she had regaled the dancers with her own horror tales of the phantom. "I never meant it...," she said quietly.

"No, I'm sure," the phantom sneered. "_Just because you can't see him doesn't mean he's not there_," he said in a strange, childlike, taunting voice.

"Please," said Meg. "I just want to know your name..."

"I have no name!" he said loudly. "I have no name.... no past.... no future...."

"Maybe I'll call you the Angel of Music, then," said Meg, growing angry. "_Christine_ always used to call you that."

The name struck a nerve. The phantom rose from his chair and pinned Meg against the wall in an instant- his hands closing around her forearms. He sneered at the fear in her eyes.

"_Never_," he hissed, bringing his face close to her to whisper in her ear. "Say that name... _down here_!"

He felt her nod, and released her. She looked at him with more fear than ever. He strode back over to the bench. Turning away from Meg, he said, in a surprisingly calm voice, "They once called me Erik. That name means nothing to me, but that is what you may call me. Understood?"

"Yes.... Erik," Meg responded, before returning to her own room. From where he sat, Erik could see tears of pain in her eyes.

Once safely in her room, Meg locked the door and curled up on the bed. She drew her knees up to her chin and began to cry softly. _Why did this have to happen?_ She asked herself. _Why was she imprisoned down here with this horrible man? If he could even be called a man,_ she thought contemptuously. She missed her mother... she missed the sun, and the freedom of the world above. As she thought of her old life, she couldn't help the cries that escaped her. She covered her mouth in an attempt to stifle them, hoping that the phantom wouldn't hear.

But he did.

Sitting out at his organ, he heard his little captive crying. He tried to shut out her small, strangled sobs, but each one met his ears clearly. He fisted his hands and rested them on the keys. Maybe he had been too hard on her, he thought. Who could blame her for hating him? In his mind, he was regretting his actions. _Why did you have to make fun of her?_ he asked himself. _Why did you hurt her? Remember how they hurt and humiliated you? And then they laughed... laughed, laughed, laughed at you, monster! Hear them- they're still laughing- laughing laughing laughing!_

"Go away!" he said out loud, slamming his head into his hands.

_You can't make us go away! We will never go- never never never! We're not like Christine- we'll never leave you....._

"Stop it!" he said into his hands. "Don't say her name..." he pleaded in a whisper.

_Christine..... Christine..... Christine.... Christine.....Chrisssssstine...._

The voices, thought Erik ... they were getting worse. The memories in his head were coming back to him- mocking him. _Why did you do it, phantom? Why? Why? Why?_

"I couldn't help it," he said miserably to no one. "I lost my temper..."

He heard Meg's cried soften, and eventually die. She had cried herself to sleep.

* * *

Meg didn't come out of her room the next day, or the day after. On the third day, Erik found himself outside her door, trying to coax her into coming out.

He knocked firmly. "Meg?" he called out, her name unfamiliar on his tongue. "Come out," he said commandingly.

"No!" she said in a small, scared voice.

"You need to eat something..." he said, growing annoyed. He didn't like her being there, but he didn't want her to die. After all, she was Madame Giry's daughter, and Antoinette had been kind to him when no one else had been. The least he could do was return her daughter to her safe and sound when the time came.

Meg didn't respond.

"Do not make me break down this door," he said angrily.

He heard the lock turn. He opened the door, and saw Meg shying away from him. "Come with me," he demanded.

She obeyed, hanging her head as she did so. He led her out into the main room, where there was a table, on top of which was a small plate of food. He pulled out the chair for her to sit down. "Eat," he said. "You haven't had anything since you came down here."

She shook her head deftly.

"You want to kill yourself?" he asked sharply, slamming his fist on the table and making her flinch. "Is that what you want? You think that by not eating you'll just waste away down here? I tell you now, Marguerite Giry- that will not happen. You will eat- or I will force you to! I will not be held responsible for your death."

"Why?" she asked, looking up at him. "Wouldn't it be easier for you just to kill me?"

"You insolent little _brat_!" he hissed. "Why do you assume that I hold such belligerent feelings against you? Why do you act as though you are my prisoner? It is not by my will that you are here- I do not wish to harm you! I will return you to your mother as soon as I can find a way to move the rocks. Until I do- if you wish to live peacefully- I suggest you do as I say."

He turned on his heel and left her alone.

As soon as he was out of sight, hunger pains began to ravage Meg's stomach. She began to eat- but forced herself to stop halfway through. Best to get used to living on little food, she thought.

Erik returned shortly, coming in to ensure that Meg had eaten, but said nothing to her. He sat down at the organ bench, and taking out a soft cloth, idly began shining the keys.

Meg, meanwhile, sat pensively, not sure whether she was allowed to leave. Minutes slipped past, melting slowly into hours. Neither she nor the phantom moved from their opposite ends of the room, until finally Meg- bored out of her mind and tired of waiting- rose to her feet.

Erik looked over at her with an expression of indifference.

She held his eyes as she walked defiantly away from the table and retreated to her bedroom.

As the hours continued to pass, Meg lost track of time. She would sleep for hours at a time, then wake up and wonder what time it was. She had no idea what day it was, or how long it had been since the rockslide. She spent almost all of her time in her room, except for the hour when Erik would summon her out of her sanctuary to eat. He took no food himself- Meg found herself wondering if he ever did, but didn't want to ask him. He was civil to her; saying little while they were together.

Meg also noticed- and this was most unnerving of all- that it didn't seem that he was doing anything to try to get out. This filled her with a quiet rage, which finally boiled over one night.

She was seated, as she normally was, at the table in the main room. Erik was at the organ, scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment. His face was tightened in concentration; head so close to the paper that his nose was almost touching it. He looked to be in a sort of intellectual coma- blind and deaf to all other surroundings. He was like that often, though Meg never knew what he was scribbling.

She set her glass of wine down deliberately hard on the wooden tabletop, causing him to jump. He looked so startled she wanted to laugh, but remembered why she had wanted to get his attention in the first place. She cleared her throat, bracing herself for any reaction that the phantom might have.

"When are we getting out of here?" she asked firmly. "What have you done to help our escape?"

Her voice was icy and accusing.

Erik met it with a level stare, meeting her eyes with an equal level of contempt.

"What would you have me do, Mademoiselle Giry?" he asked silkily. "Move the rocks with my bare hands? You forget: I am a mere mortal. This task is too great for one."

"Then how are we ever to get out?" Meg asked, voice taking on a note of desperation.

"Perhaps we won't," he said passively.

Meg was on her feet in an instant. "No! We will get out of here- because I refuse to live my life down here! I refuse to be reduced to a shadow.... I refuse to live in the dark... and-" She stopped herself before saying what she was about to. She had been about to say _'and I refuse to live with a monster'_, but had luckily stopped herself in time. Frustrated, she ran down to the lake, hiking up her skirts and wading out to the pile of immobile rocks. She tried with all her strength to push them; when that didn't work, she kicked, dug, scratched and clawed at the stone, trying to move them. Helplessly, she screamed and cried and struggled against them, until finally, she sank to her knees in the cold, murky water, hot tears streaming down her cheeks.

When she looked up, she saw Erik standing over her, an unreadable expression on his face; a mixture of compassion, pity, and understanding combined into one emotion.

Meg couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes. She knew she was acting childish- crying and carrying on about something she couldn't change.

Something about the way she had reacted struck a chord of familiarity with Erik. Meg's reaction had been similar to what he'd done when he'd first seen his face. When his mother had put him before a mirror and taken his mask off so that he could see the horror, the irony of his situation. He, too, had screamed and cried- he had smashed his fists against the damned piece of glass, and wished, with all his might, that it wasn't true. But at the end of the day, it was.

"Your hands..." he said suddenly.

Meg looked down at her hands and retched. Her knuckles were raw and bleeding from being scraped against the rocks, and her fingernails had been ripped off, and were also bleeding.

And then Meg felt pain.

Adrenaline had postponed the feeling for a few moments, but now that the damage had been done, she suffered the consequences. She squeezed her eyes shut, but couldn't suppress the whimper of pain that escaped her.

Erik pitied her in that moment- the poor girl, trapped down there with him, away from her mother and the rest of her world. He moved around behind her and grasped her arms, gently lifting her to her feet. She was soaking wet from sitting in the water. He guided her to the shore, sat her down in his large, throne-like chair.

"Wait here," he commanded.

She didn't respond, and he disappeared for a moment, returning with a basin of water and a bottle of something, as well as bandages. He knelt down before her, like she had done for him a few days before. He poured some of the liquid out of the bottle and into the basin, then took her hands.

"This is going to sting," he said, lowering her damaged fingers into the water.

She closed her eyes as her hands became slowly submerged in the warm water. Her flesh stung terribly- she thought it would be easier just to cut her hands off. When she opened her eyes, she saw the phantom reaching for a strip of bandage, having cleaned the dirt and gravel out of her cuts. He began to wrap it carefully and securely, stopping the blood flow. As he mended her cuts, Erik remembered the incident with the mirror. After smashing the glass, his hands had been like Meg's- cut and damaged; pieces of glass stuck in them. It had hurt, but not as badly as that moment of horrible revelation when he had first seen his face.

Likewise, he knew that Meg's wounds wouldn't cause her nearly as much pain as the prospect of living down here with him would.

* * *

A/N: I know this is coming along slowly…. But it'll get better, I promise!!! REVIEW! 


	4. Scars

A/N: hey to all my readers! i'm so glad to hear you guys like it!!

Just a note: As you've seen already, Erik's going to have a lot of mental conversations in this story, between the "voices" he hears, and his actual mind. The "voices" are written in italics (and will be explained a little later!) and his actual thoughts will be written 'like this,'.

trust me, this is not to make our beloved phantom sound insane... its simply me interpreting what i think his mind is like. so review and tell me what you think! k?

and now, without further ado... chapter 3!!!

* * *

Chapter 3- Scars 

Meg stared down at her bandaged fingers in a state of subdued shock. Everything was hitting her at once- the feelings of helplessness from being trapped, the memories of her old life, the unwillingness to go on living... down here. Her long, thin fingers were now covered by layers of white gauze, bound together firmly, so that she couldn't use her fingers properly. Her fingers still stung from where the nails had been ripped off, and she knew that they would be that way until new nails grew in. It was at this point when Meg began to despair. She would never get out. She was doomed to living here, in isolation; her only companion this dark, shadowy phantom named Erik.

She shivered from fright- but her shivers didn't stop after that. Her small body was freezing from being in wet clothing, and her teeth began to chatter involuntarily. Erik took notice of this. Meg was the very picture of misery- tears falling silently, hands bound in bandages, shivering from the cold.

He studied her for a moment, then said, in his soft, silky voice, "Come with me, Mademoiselle Giry. You must dry off before you catch pneumonia."

Deftly, she stood up, wrapping her arms around her thin frame, and followed him back to her bedroom.

Erik strode over to the wardrobe and opened it, revealing a closet full of dresses- most of which were black. He took one out- a fine one, made of silk. "Anything in here is yours," he said.

Meg nodded, and reached out to take the dress from him, when she remembered her bandages. With them binding her fingers together, how on earth was she supposed to handle undressing? She swallowed. This was shaping up to be an extremely precarious situation, for both of them...

Erik realized at the same moment she did. If he was alarmed by it, though, he didn't let it show. He set the dress on the bed. There was a moment of silence between them, then he said, "You will have to let me help you."

Meg nodded, feeling as though things couldn't get any worse. She turned around submissively, and Erik slowly began to undo the buttons of her dress, and the ties to her chemise. He felt Meg trembling- though whether from cold or fear, he couldn't be sure. When he had finished, he turned away while she removed the wet dress and shift, and slipped into the black gown. It was difficult work, but Meg was able to wriggle into it enough to be decently covered. Erik laced up the back of the gown for her, tying them tightly so that the dress would stay up. Meg was terribly small and thin; and the dresses had been made for Christine, who had been taller and broader.

When the last lacing was fastened, he swept out of the room without another word. Meg closed the door behind him, but for once, she didn't lock it.

Much later in the evening, long after he was sure that Meg was asleep, Erik began to play his organ, very quietly so that the sound didn't carry through the cave. He serenaded his mind with his own music- soft, love songs he had written for Christine, but had never played her. It was a kind of torture that he liked to subject himself to- forcing himself to remember every detail about her; the way her brown curls would fall lazily across her face when she slept, how the corners of her perfectly shaped mouth would turn up in a smile as she sang... He had managed to weave everything he loved about Christine into his songs, the melodies soft and gentle like her face and smile, but still passionate, like her soul and her mind. It intoxicated the phantom, until, in his madness, his mind would conjure Christine's spirit to appear before him for a brief instant, before disappearing violently as he remembered that she was no longer his. He began to play the song he had wrote for their wedding night... he had wanted to play it for her, to show her how much he loved her. If only they hadn't been followed by that boy, he thought angrily, Christine would be his right now.

_His. _

And no one else's.

His fingers suddenly stopped moving. He looked down at his hands, thinking. His fingers were long and slender- a trademark of his playing the piano from an early age. There were short, thin scars along the skin from where he had smashed the mirrors as a boy, but aside from that, he thought, his hands were like anyone else's. His hands had done beautiful things in his lifetime- they had built beautiful things, written beautiful songs. But what was any of it worth? It meant nothing to a world who judged a man only by the appearance of his face. By some random chance, he, of all people, had been born with this deformity. _It could have been anyone, _he thought to himself miserably. _It could have happened to anyone. But why me? Why was I the cursed one? What sin did I commit, that I have to atone for in this way? Why have I been denied love?_

Feelings of rage began to consume him.

As Erik looked down again, he hated his hands. He cursed them- they were the instruments that had caused him to kill innumerable people in Persia... they were the hands that had written the accursed Don Juan Triumphant that had started this whole mess... they were the hands that had come so close to taking away the thing that Christine had loved most... they were the reason he was a monster. It wasn't the face, though that didn't help at all.  
It was his hands, and what he had done with him that made him the fiend that he was.

_So cut off your hands, phantom... what'll it do?_

The voices were back. _Give them another reason to mock you... think of it- a man with no face and no hands. Freak, that's what they'll call you! Just like they always have! Just like they always will! But hands give a man his power... think of what your hands have done for you. They made people fear you.... Remember? The Angel of Doom... the most feared mortal in Persia. You've done great things, phantom. Terrible things, yes. But great. Let the weak perish at your hand. **Take what you want**! Make them obey you......_

"No!" he said sharply. Those thoughts were dangerous. Like a young child with fire. What starts out as just experimental play turns into a dangerous blaze- all-consuming and deadly.

_But it's already happened_, the voice said. _You've already set the fire. Crossed the bridge. Past the point of no return. Now stand back, phantom. Stand back and watch it smolder and burn. See what you have done... what you still can do. _

'I won't do it,' he thought resolutely. 'I am a man. Not a monster.'

_You are a man without love. You are the **definition** of a monster_.

"No more!" Erik moaned. "Just leave me! Just leave me!"

The silence that followed his words was deafening. Mentally exhausted, Erik removed his mask and rested his scarred face on his hand, tears beginning to flow. "Christine," he whispered. "Christine... why?"

more to come, i promise! REVIEW!


	5. Forgotten

A/N: Hey to all! thanks for the reviews- i feel loved! sorry this chapter is painfully short... I realize this has been mostly babble so far... but I promise you- more interaction between Meg and Erik is forthcoming! I have an idea of where the plot is going, but its going to take some fine tuning! also: this seems to be the big question: Has Erik gone completely off his rocker-sly smile- well that's for you all to figure out! Enjoy, and as always, REVIEW!

* * *

Chapter 4- Forgotten

After nearly a week and a half of searching, Antoinette Giry was at her wit's end. Meg had not been found in the Opera House- everyone knew that her chances of being found now were slim to none. Christine comforted her old ballet teacher as best she could, but the woman was grief-stricken. In her heart, Madame Giry blamed Erik for Meg's death. It had been him that had caused the chandelier to fall, and the fire to start. That's how they were assuming that Meg had died- in the fire. "She wouldn't have been below," Madame Giry told Christine. "I told her not to come... she would not have disobeyed me."

And so, it was with a heavy heart that Madame Giry left the opera house with Christine and Raoul. With the Vicomte's help, they found her a small flat in another part of the city; she had always lived at the opera house, but with it being uninhabitable, she needed a home of her own.

As they left, Christine couldn't help but worry about the older woman's health. She was looking increasingly frailer as the days went by- and with the strain of losing Meg, Christine doubted her ability to take care of herself. They passed the Opera House on their way back to Raoul's penthouse, and tears filled Christine's eyes. Tears for Meg- her dear friend, who was lost, and also for Erik- who she knew, in time, would be forgotten.

* * *

Meanwhile, Meg was finding herself slipping farther and farther away from the realm of reality. Even though she had only been gone for a little over than a week and a half, her memories of how life had been before were beginning to fade away. She looked at her life now as being divided into two periods: "before" and "now". She didn't like thinking about the "before"- the memories were too painful to recall, and by pushing them away, she was letting them escape her forever. As the days ticked away, she began to forget simple things; the way the sun felt on her face, the sound of the other ballet dancers- her friends- talking and laughing together after a hard day's rehearsals. She had even forgotten, it seemed, how to laugh, how to smile. She hadn't done so since they had been trapped. Down here, all her emotions were either of anger, fear, or sadness. There was no more 'happy' or 'good' in her life- it was all darkness. Alone in her room again, Meg mused over the irony of her predicament. She was like a flower- dependent on light and happiness to survive- that had been forced to live and grow in a dark, cold room. And she knew that like the flower inevitably would, she, soon, would wither and die.

* * *

A/N: short, i know, but i'm putting up another one tonight! please review!  



	6. Whisper

Chapter 5- Whisper

While Meg spent long hours in her room, Erik spent his time buried deep within his own personal hell, in the dark reaches of his mind. Captivity, though he was well used to it, did not serve him well. He was consumed by a desperate need to get out, but every time he so much as glanced at the pile of rocks, he was forced to remember his own flawed human strength. For try as he might, he could not move the rocks. His frustration at having found a task that he couldn't overcome did nothing more than drive him into madness. The voices would return... mock him for a while, and then leave him lost in the dark labyrinth of his thoughts. He would spend hours, staring idly at the pile of stone, trying to think but finding it intensely difficult to concentrate. The inability to focus his mind like he had disciplined himself to made him worry about his sanity.

The last thing he wanted to do was have Meg see him enter one of his mad rages. And he didn't want to hurt her. He knew, very well, that he was capable of it. When his mind became overtaken by his haunting memories of hatred and anger, there was no limit on his violence.

_Meg... _

The young dancer puzzled Erik. He had seen her since she was a small child- watched her grow and progress as a performer. She had always been the boldest of all the dancers- she had been the leader of several very good pranks that had been pulled on La Carlotta and several members of the orchestra. These moments of childish foolishness had given Erik something to laugh about in his life of solemn solitude. Then, Christine had come, and he had more or less forgotten about Meg- caught up in playing the role of Christine's Angel of Music.

_Christine..._

His love for her still burned- it scalded him like the hottest fire. The very memory of her took his breath away- even now, after she had broken his heart. She had left him an empty shell, a useless form of life. He wanted to die, but was bound by the words he had once heard from a priest. _"Life is not ours to take, Erik,"_ the holy man had said. '_But life was never mine to have in the first place,_' thought Erik. '_From the time I was born, life was not mine. It never belonged to me; I was a creature without love, and a life without love is no life at all. It's merely existence. Pathetic, blind, ignorant existence.' _

He stood up, pacing anxiously as he always did whenever thoughts of Christine would creep into his head. He walked down the hall to Meg's room. He hadn't heard the lock click tonight, as it usually did. Now that he thought on it, he hadn't heard the sound for a few nights now. The door was slightly ajar, and he could see Meg's face- dimly illuminated by a dying candle on her bedside. She was the very picture of innocence; sleeping peacefully, face a contrast of light and dark from the shadows cast by the candle. She seemed so afraid of him, he thought gloomily. Not that that wasn't understandable. He hadn't done much along the lines of convincing her that he was anything but a monster. But it was so hard to keep control of his temper... Christine's departure had left him burning with rage that would just take hold of him and turn him into the thing he feared above all else. The monster he had feared as a child.

But he didn't want Meg to see him that way. If she was going to be forced to live down here, with him- at least for awhile- he didn't want her to think of him as a repulsive, heartless demon of darkness. If only he could do something to let her see another side of him...

* * *

_"Meg..."_

A whisper stirred Meg from her slumber. Her eyes opened slowly, and she immediately wondered what time it was. Then, with a discouraged sigh, she remembered where she was. The place where time had no purpose. Her next thought was of what had wakened her. She had heard something... a whisper, she thought.

"_Meg..." _

There it was again.

Something was whispering her name. A tingle of fear ran down her spine as a low melody began to surround her- a mournful song, sung in the most beautiful voice she had ever heard. She sat up in bed, looking around for the source. Her eyes drifted to the candle, which had long since burned out. The song seemed to come from the candle itself; Meg lowered her head closer to it, and found- remarkably- that she was right. The candle was singing!

But how is that possible? She thought in wonder. She picked it up, examining it closely. The sound was clearly coming from the candle, but... how? The sound was so strangely beautiful... so hypnotic... so _seductive_. Almost afraid, Meg set the candle back down on her nightstand, lying back down in bed, listening to its haunting melody. The song seeped into her mind, making her drowsy. It lived inside of her, and gently lulled her back into a deep slumber. When she had passed from consciousness, the voice faded, growing fainter as it left the candle and returned to its rightful owner. Erik took one last look at Meg, smiling inwardly at his clever little trick, and went back to his own room.

* * *

Meg woke with a start again, hours later. She rolled out of bed groggily, and padded down the hallway. Erik was seated in his chair, looking restless. He raised his eyes to acknowledge her when she entered but said nothing. Meg felt suddenly uncomfortable. She waited, silent, for several minutes, waiting to see if Erik would react any further to her presence. When he did not, she thought it safe to speak.

"Erik?" she voiced in a timid whisper. She glanced over at him, and felt her heart skip nervously when he looked back. With one half of his face hidden by the mask, he looked strangely spectral, like a frightening spirit of some undead world.

Meg continued. "I- I'm sorry for the way I behaved the other night. It was... very childish of me."

Erik didn't say anything, so Meg pressed on, aware that her words were probably just senseless babble to him. "I know you probably think of me as a child... I haven't done much to convince you otherwise... but I'm willing to help you any way I can... to find a way to get out of here."

He eyed her with a mixture of apprehension and amusement. Behind the mask, the green eyes were shining, which for some reason put Meg at ease. He looked more... human... in the dim candlelight- not like the cold-hearted figure she had taken him for. He said nothing, simply listened.

His silence greatly disconcerted Meg. She got the sinking feeling that her voice was annoying him, and so she fell silent.

Erik felt her tension. He wanted to say something to ease the girl's anxiety, but wasn't sure if he trusted himself to say anything.

Finally, a question that he had been wondering over slipped out of his mouth. "Do you hate it terribly down here?" he asked her softly, though even at a low pitch, his voice lost none of its fluid, encompassing seductiveness.

Meg bowed her head, so he wouldn't see the color surging to her cheeks. She did hate it down here, but didn't want to offend him by saying so. "It's... just very different... from up there," she said, gesticulating toward the ceiling. A faraway look filled her eyes, and she seemed to speak to no one in particular. "Its dark and cold... and lonely... And strange things happen. I think," she gave a small laugh, still giving Erik the impression that she was talking to the walls rather than him. "-I think I may be going mad. The candle..." She stopped.

"The candle?" Erik's voice drifted across the stagnant air to reach her ears.

Meg snapped back to life. "Yes... the candle. It was strange- I think I might have been dreaming."

"And what was your dream?" he asked.

"You're going to think I'm insane," Meg mumbled. "I dreamed of waking up... in bed and hearing this... this voice, calling my name. I was searching for it... and it was the candle... sitting there on my nightstand, singing. The most beautiful sound was coming from it... the most beautiful song. It- it frightened me..."

She thought she saw something flicker in Erik's eyes, but dismissed it, assuming it had been the candlelight.

"It frightened you?" he asked.

She nodded. "I was frightened that I was hallucinating."

He turned this over in his mind. She had been frightened of his voice. No... frightened of what his voice made her think. She certainly didn't suspect his ventriloquism. Still, much as he liked having that alluring power over her, he didn't want Meg to fear him.

"There is nothing to be afraid of down here, Meg," he said.

Their eyes locked, and for a moment, Meg believed him. He rose to his feet and left suddenly, retreating to his room down the hall. As his tall, dark figure receded, it dawned on Meg that they had just shared their first civil conversation that hadn't culminated in him losing his temper or her fleeing to her room.

It hadn't been much, but perhaps things would get better in time...

* * *

That evening, as Meg crawled into bed, she could have sworn she heard something whisper her name. Erik's words sounded in her head. _There is nothing to be afraid of... _

'_That's an understatement if I ever heard one,'_ she thought. There were many things to be afraid of down here, she knew; and rats and spiders were the trivial things. There was something about this place... this labyrinth that made Meg shiver from an unseen fear. Shortly after she had blown out the candle, Meg found herself in the space between sleep and consciousness, where one has no distinction between the illusions of sleep and the realm of reality. It was then that the voice called to her again. This time, it came not from the candle, but from all around her. The seductive whisper surrounded her, caressing her gently with the beautiful sound of its voice.

"_Meg,"_ it whispered, as it had the night before.

"Who are you?" Meg mumbled sleepily.

"_An angel,"_ the voice said. "I'm watching over you."

"Can you take me home?" she asked, eyes closed.

"_Yes,"_ said the voice. A song suddenly filled the room- a beautiful, sad song, that painted a vivid picture in Meg's mind. Suddenly, she was home- with her mother, happily practicing her dance for the latest opera. This simple normality which she had once taken for granted now brought on such a sadness that in the morning when she woke, Meg's pillow was soaked with her tears.

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A/N: REVIEW! 


	7. Angels

Chapter 6- Angels

When he was sure Meg was asleep, Erik let his voice leave the room and return to him. He watched her through her slightly opened door as he had the previous night. He knew it would only be a matter of time until she discovered who the voice really was, but he wanted to build her trust. He didn't want her to fear him; he didn't want her to think of him as an evil monster.

Then get her out, his mind told him later in the evening, as he sat in his room, watching the candle on his desk burn lower. Find a way to move the rocks, set her free.

'But she might not come back,' Erik thought. 'She might leave and go somewhere far, far away. I might be alone again...'

_That didn't seem like such a bad idea a few days ago, did it?_ His mind chided. _You wanted to be alone for the rest of your life. You didn't want anyone there..._

Erik mulled over this. It was true- as he had watched Christine row away with Raoul, his only thoughts were that he never wanted to see another human being as long as he lived. But then Meg had stumbled into his chamber of solitude...

_You want her to stay, don't you? That's why you won't move the rocks. You want to keep the little one down here with you, don't you, phantom?_

'Yes...'

_Don't be stupid! You know you can't! She'll hate you- she already hates you!_

'She trusts my voice.'

She trusts your voice because you hypnotize her, you twisted villan! That's all you are to her- a twisted gruesome monster! The voice turned to a sing-songy chant. Mon-ster! Mon-ster! Mon-ster!

"But I could change," Erik whispered. "I could show her..."

Can you change your face? No. You can't. You're cursed, phantom. Cursed as the devil in hell! You can never be human! You were never a human to Christine... all you were was a voice. That's all she trusted.

Erik knew that the voices were right. All he could ever be to Meg was a fantasy- a phantom voice that came to her as she slept and comforted her. He sighed in anguish. The aching for her to be something more was more than he could bear. It had always been his sub-conscious desire to have someone look on him in friendship, or even- dare he hope- love. But there was no one who would.

That fact had been drilled into his head ever since his childhood, and punctuated by Christine's betrayal. For Erik, love had only ever meant eternal despair and pain. His pure love for Christine -corrupted by the fact that he knew he could never have her- had turned to dangerous obsession, which lead to him almost losing his sanity. If it hadn't have been for that one perfect kiss- the one that had filled Erik with such joy and pain, all in one emotion- the one that had given him the realization that Christine was as desperate as he was. But her desperation had been different, he thought. She had done it to save the life of the man she truly loved- the Vicomte deChagny. Erik still cursed the day that fop had been born. If only he hadn't, their fates might have been very different.

He forced the memory from his mind. It still maddened him to think about it- blinded him with such rage...

He took a deep breath. He couldn't keep Meg down here, much as he wanted to. She was not his prisoner; and she wanted to go home to her mother, who he knew was probably worried sick.

The prospect of loneliness again- far from consoling him- made the phantom even madder with despair.

Meg woke the next morning to the sound of the organ, being played at full-blast. The tremulous sounds of the keys being played echoed throughout the whole house, filling the air with mournful, powerful sounds. The song was a haunting overture, filled with short notes that moved up and down the keyboard. The diverse variation in the chords was something Meg had never heard before in any of the music that had been played at the opera. This was a new type of music entirely. It was intense and passionate and would have been painful to an untrained ear. But to Meg, who had been around music her whole life, and while she was not an outstanding singer, knew enough about music and composition to understand the beauty of the song.

As Meg got out of bed, she thought of her 'dream'. She still wasn't sure what to make of it- had she really heard an angel, speaking to her last night? It seemed so unreal, and yet, she wanted it to be true. She had taken comfort in the voice- it had soothed her weary anxieties, and lulled her gently to sleep. She wanted to believe in angels; she wanted to believe that one of them was watching over her, even here, in the dark of Erik's cave.

And though her angel wasn't who she imagined it to be, he was there nonetheless, and as the days passed, he found himself caring for her in spite of himself.

* * *

short, i kno... but review anyway! 


	8. Despair

Chapter 7- Despair

If Erik's count was right, Meg had been there for two weeks, at least. He would mark the days on a scrap of parchment in his bedroom, going by the pocket watch he kept in his pocket; the only timekeeping device in the labyrinth. And, he thought, she had been in her room for at least ten of those days. She finally emerged on evening, to find him, staring at the rocks. He stirred when she came in, raising his eyes to look at her. She smiled weakly, still nervous to be around him. She still feared his temper, and didn't want to do anything that might cause it to explode.

She was about to say something, but he spoke first, much to her surprise.

"We should probably take those bandages off," he said quietly, motioning to her hands.

Meg nodded.

He came over to her, taking her injured hands gently in his. "I can warn you- they won't be a pretty sight," he said.

Meg swallowed, and he began to unravel the gauze slowly.

Her hands were horrible to look at. The skin was red and raw; the nails painfully shorter than normal- only stubs of tissue surrounded by red, blistered lacerations. Meg couldn't help the small cry that escaped her.

Erik's face remained emotionless as he undid the other bandage. He watched her expression of horror passively. As he turned away to dispose of the bandage, he said- so quietly that she almost missed it, "Better your hands than your face."

"What?" Meg asked.

"Nothing."

But she knew it was more than nothing. "Perhaps," she said. "Perhaps not."

"You wouldn't know," he said haughtily. "You've never had it happen to you... you've never known what its like... to be ugly."

Meg was silent.

Erik continued, voice taking on more and more intensity. "You've never had people laugh at you- scorn you because of a face that you were cursed with... You've never had your mother look on you with disgust, wondering why she didn't let you die at birth...You've never been called the devil's child... you've never had to live with yourself, alone in a labyrinth of hell, all the while knowing that there's no one..." He turned back to Meg. Her golden hair was bathed in the warm candlelight, her blue eyes filled with tears of fear and despair. Her face was angel-like: innocent and perfectly shaped.

His dark green eyes became clouded with his own tears. "Look at yourself," he said, coming closer to her, voice barely above a whisper as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. "Perfection. The face of an angel. As though God himself crafted it- making every feature flawless and perfect." He reached out a trembling hand to touch her, stopping an inch short of her face. There was a moment when neither of them was sure what to do. The hand extended to her seemed to be waiting permission, as if afraid to touch her flawless complexion without fear of chastisement.

Meg's breath caught in her throat, and she took a step back.

Erik's hand fell instantly. "I- I'm sorry," he said, turning his back to her, ashamed. And then, with a swish of his black cloak, he had disappeared down the hall, leaving Meg to her own thought.

She had always known the phantom of the opera to wear a mask- her mother would sometimes mention it- but she had never quite figured out what was behind it. The ballet girls had their own stories- each more horrible than the next- but Meg had always been somewhat unwilling to believe them. Now that she had time to dwell on it, she found herself wondering just how bad his disfiguration actually was. Obviously bad enough where he felt inferior to other human beings as far as appearance went. Meg had always thought herself fortunate looking -though she had never been vain- but had never considered herself beautiful, much less perfect. Erik, on the other hand, had been looking at her as though she were a goddess, streaming with heavenly glory and beauty. She flushed involuntarily. Still, there was a certain level of desperation in his words, and Meg pitied him. His life must have been terrible for him to think of himself such horrible a creature, she thought. As she gazed down the hall toward his room, Meg was filled with a sudden, overwhelming curiosity about the phantom. Before they got out, she promised herself, she would learn Erik's story.

* * *

In his own room, Erik was seated at his desk, kicking himself mentally as he poured his thoughts onto paper; not through music this time, but through sketching. He had taken to drawing now and then, when he was too disheartened to work on his music. They weren't masterpieces in his mind; more like mediocre scribblings, but they were a way for him to transfer his emotion out of his tired, overloaded mind. The charcoal pencil in his hand never stopped moving as his picture slowly began to appear on the paper. He thought furiously about the way he had behaved earlier- about how he had lost control again, in front of Meg. His thoughts were conflicted and incoherent; interpreting them was like trying to read a page of Sumerian hieroglyphics. It was his inability to control his mind that frightened Erik the most. Over his many years of solitude, he had established a certain level of control, but it seemed to have been damaged- if not broken beyond repair- by Christine, and made worse by Meg.  
_Or made worse by humans in general,the uninvited voice chimed in._

'Possibly,' Erik thought. But not all humans made him lose his cool like that.

_Maybe it's just women,_ the voice said. There was a certain connotation of taunting in the unspoken statement.

Erik frowned. 'I am perfectly capable of keeping control of myself in a woman's presence,' he thought angrily.

Even as he said the words, he knew the ludicrousness of them. He could hear the voice laughing at him.

_Perfectly capable' are you, phantom? What about Christine? You couldn't control yourself when she was around you. You know what kind of control... not just your temper..._

Erik's fists clenched. The hand holding the charcoal pencil began to shake, applying more pressure to the paper.

_You can't stand it... can you? To be so close to such perfection... to be reminded that there's something in this world that you can't fix or make disappear._

"I could make it disappear all right," he muttered contemptuously. It wouldn't be the first time he had tried to kill himself.

_No, you couldn't,_ the voice whispered in his ear. _You wouldn't do it- you're a coward. If you weren't, you'd be dead and gone now. You would have ceased to exist long ago._

'Go away,' he thought irritably. 'Just leave me alone... for once... just leave me alone!'

_You can't make us go away... **never...**_

"Watch me," he said, slamming down the pencil and crinkling up the paper. He pulled open one of the desk drawers, extracting a morphine syringe. The old habit had started up again not too long ago... he had paid a hefty sum for the drug, and now his supplies were running low. With them being trapped, he knew that he would run out before long.

_Then what will you do?_ the voice asked.

Erik closed his eyes and mind to the voice, savoring a certain satisfaction as the needle slid into his vein.

Two minutes later, he barely knew himself.


	9. Addiction

Chapter 8- Addiction

(A/N: just a note: i took Erik's morphine addiction from Susan Kay's Phantom. so, if you were wondering, i didn't make Erik have this little drug problem! but it does make things interesting...

also- to those who are wondering: ERIK IS NOT INSANE! his inner voices are the result of years of solitude and the fact that he is a troubled genius. but Erik- insane? of course not! ;) wink! you all will see that soon enough)

* * *

Not long after Erik retreated to his room, Meg surveyed the rocks again. Her hands still burned from what she had done, but she was desperate to escape. She waded out to the pile, and stood, hands on her hips, knee deep in water, contemplating the best way to go about moving the rocks. She was not a particularly strong girl- she had the strength of a dancer, but had never had to do heavy lifting before. Gingerly, she began to climb up onto the pile, carefully finding footholds and lifting herself higher and higher. When she was a fair distance off the ground, she began to push at some of the smaller rocks at the top of the pile. With a little urging, a medium-sized boulder detached from the rest of the bunch, and cascaded down the pile, landing with a loud crash as it collided with the other rocks at the base. The sound echoed throughout the cave, and a moment later, Erik, having heard the noise, staggered out.

"What the-" he uttered a few expletives that made Meg blush with embarrassment.

"I'm trying to get us out," she said.

She squinted to get a good look at Erik's face. There was something different about him- but she couldn't say what.

She noticed the way he swayed while he tried to stand upright.

"Erik?" she asked. "Are you- are you all right?"

He didn't answer; his eyes looked out of focus. Concerned, Meg scrambled down and waded back over to him. As she drew closer, she realized that something definitely wasn't right. Erik looked... drugged, she thought. His green eyes were out of focus and the visible side of his face was pale and drawn.

"Erik," she said loudly. "Look at me-"

But he couldn't. Not clearly, anyway. He swayed again, threatening to fall over. Meg reached out to steady him, but he shoved her away.

He mumbled something incoherent.

From the way he was, Meg was sure that he was either drugged or delirious.

She approached him again. His shirtsleeve was pulled back on his right arm, and she saw the vein, sticking out more prominently than usual- a few drops of blood leaking out that Erik hadn't bothered to take care of. "Erik," she said testily. "What happened? What did you take?"

Erik's head was so infused with the drug that his mental capabilities had been suspended. Morphine was what was controlling him now.

He stumbled over to his chair and collapsed, motionless. Meg stared at him. He was clearly drugged, she thought. Or at least, she hoped he was. She prayed he wouldn't act like this normally. With him temporarily incapacitated, she hurried down the hall to his room. Maybe there she would be able to find out what he had done. She threw the door open and burst in without thinking twice- stopping short when she saw what was inside.

A coffin.

Standing, like a bed, on one side of the room.

_Erik slept in a coffin._ The thought of it caused Meg's heart to feel as though two cold, slimy hands were squeezing it. She swallowed hard, and then moved over to Erik's desk. On the desktop, she saw, was a long, empty syringe. She picked it up. So Erik was injecting himself with something. Whatever it was, he was likely to have more of it around somewhere, she thought, pulling open one of the drawers. Curiously, it was filled with scraps of parchment. Suddenly interested, she took them out and examined them. They were drawings- beautifully detailed sketches of various buildings; extravagant palaces and theatres that exceeded the standards of contemporary architecture. Meg flipped through them, until she came to one drawing that she knew wasn't and architectural sketch. Instead of rigid, symmetric buildings, it was a portrait of a young girl, sitting before an altar with a sad, faraway look in her eye. She flipped to the next one. The same little girl- she looked like she might be crying...

The others were more of the same. The drawings showed a progression of ages; from childhood to preteen to maturity of the girl. Meg knew at once who the girl was.

_Christine._

When Meg came to a picture of her as a young woman, it was so startlingly lifelike that she gasped in surprise. When she had seen all of the pictures, she set them on the surface of the desk, and continued rummaging through the drawer. Underneath some other trinkets, Meg found the morphine. She took out the container of syringes, looking at them with disgust. So Erik was an addict.

A hand on her shoulder sent an electric jolt of fear through her. "What- are you doing?" a silky voice asked viciously. The grip on her shoulder was talon-like. Meg tensed in fright.

"Nothing," she said through clenched teeth.

"_Liar!"_ he spat, yanking her away suddenly, causing the case of needles to fall to the floor.

Erik rounded on Meg, advancing on her so that she backed into the wall. "I want you... out of my room," he snarled.

His sudden protectiveness caused something in Meg to snap; something inside that made her look past her fear. "Why?" she yelled back. "So I won't be able to see that you're an addict? So you can hide it away, where you think no one will ever find it? So that once I'm gone, you'll just drug yourself again? How far will you go this time, Erik? How close will you come to killing yourself before you remember that there are other people on this earth who need you right now?"

Erik was slightly taken aback by her words, but didn't let it show. His temper, once again, got the better of him. "Get out, damn it! _Get out!_" he yelled, raising a hand to strike her. The look of raw fear in Meg's eyes stopped him. His hand, suspended in midair, did not fall as Meg had been anticipating. She noticed this, and used his moment of indecision to escape to her room, slamming the door loudly behind her, and then slamming an angry fist at the stone wall. This did nothing to help her injured hands; on the contrary, it caused her to feel even more pain as she strained to bite back tears. Now that she was safely behind closed doors, Meg allowed herself to let the fear flow over her. Her fear of Erik had reached its apex tonight. She was more frightened of him now than she had ever been of anything in this world. He was mad, she thought- a madman who injected would-be lethal doses of morphine into his blood stream. She knew that she should hate him, but she found that whatever feelings she had toward Erik, hate was not one of them. For hidden within her fear and anger, deep down inside, was a small core of something- pity, she supposed- like a piece of ash, in the midst of a blazing fire, waiting to be consumed. But there was something else... something that Meg didn't understand. Her pity for Erik- if you could call it that- was not like the feeling of pity that she had for say, beggars on the streets. Beggars in Paris were not uncommon- they stationed themselves at nearly every street corner. Meg and her friends often used to pass them when they would take walks to the cathedral or to the park. Meg pitied their situation, their plight, but somehow, it was different than what she thought about Erik. It was a step above that; she pitied him, but she found herself seething with the overwhelming desire to _help_ him. To reach out to him and let him know that she was here... but she knew she never could. Erik was like a solid wall of ice, and she a single match. She could never expect to melt the ice around his heart alone.

* * *

Back in his room, Erik was still shaking with silent rage. So Meg now knew about his addiction, he thought hopelessly. What did it matter? What did any of it matter?

He just felt so tired... so tired.

His mind was coaxing him to sleep. _Just let go... just sleep... just close out the rest of the world. Let the darkness take you... it's time, phantom. You know it's time..._

'Too much morphine,' he thought. He had taken too much, and now he was...

_Dying? Oh, no. Not yet, phantom. Not yet. You've had this much before, your body still harbors some resilience to it. But you could... just one more shot, what would it hurt? Just a little prick, then you can climb into your coffin and satisfy your life's wish. Death really isn't bad, you know. It's just... sleeping. Forever_.

'Unless I'm doomed to burn in hell,' he thought sadistically. 'The image of my body searing forever in the eternal flames doesn't particularly appeal to me...'

_Just one more shot... that's all it takes. You can do it... we'll help you..._

His hand shot out and grabbed one of the syringes. Instinct and despair screamed at him to do it, to just take it and embrace mortality, but...

He stared at it, transfixed.

The difference between his life and death was contained here, in this tiny tube, waiting to be pumped into his veins. 'Strange,' he thought with a small laugh. The paradox of life; how it could all be over so quickly.

The voices in his head were now chanting, steadily.

_Do it... do it... stop the pain... do it..._

The needle was poised, right above the blue of the vein on Erik's right arm.

But he suddenly heard something else. _"How close will you come to killing yourself before you remember that there are other people on this earth who need you right now?"_ He remembered Meg's words. The needle hesitated.

_Do it... DO IT!_

'No,' he thought, surprisingly calmly. 'Not tonight.' He lowered the needle, letting it fall free of his grasp and land with a clank on the hard stone floor.

'Perhaps sometime,' he thought. 'But not tonight.'

* * *

A/N: so... very angsty, suicidal chapter, all for you, my darling readers! Well, i never said this would be all sunshine and roses, now did i? so... REVIEW!

coming up... more angst and- dare i say- maybe a little fluff? you like? lemme kno!


	10. Broken

Chapter 9- Broken

A/N: okay. I can see that a lot of you didn't like Erik's little addiction. anyway, i hadn't planned to have him have a LONG TERM issue- it was just kind of a one-time conflict. (and i really don't like to imagine erik as a druggie either. i really don't.) But anyway- please stick with this story- i promise you, it will get better!

to respond to some of my reviews:

Eilianu- heh- i love your "make up and make out" thing. Who knows... maybe they will...

rio- hey- a million thank yous for all the reviews you left me for my other story! i loved them all! in answer to your question: erik wasn't trying to commit suicide, but he did take more morphine than usual, but it wasn't intentional. and don't worry- erik will be off the morphine by the end of this story, i promise!

* * *

Meg didn't remain in her room for long. Presently she became bored, and decided to venture out into the house. After the time spent in her room, Meg decided that she really wasn't as frightened of Erik as she thought she had been. The fear she had felt earlier had been the result of adrenaline and emotion. But now that she dwelt on it, seeing Erik at the height of his addiction had actually lessened her fear. She didn't know why this was so- maybe because she now had living proof that Erik was only human; having the same weaknesses and addictions as any other human being would be tempted to give in to. Whatever it was, Meg was suddenly feeling bold. She opened her door and stepped out into the drafty hallway. A deafening silence met her ears, which she thought, was quite uncommon. If Erik wasn't playing the organ, he was always tinkering with something. She had never heard the house this quiet, and the tomb-like atmosphere was beginning to tug at her nerves.

What if Erik had... killed himself? She thought with a sinking heart. Lord knew there was enough morphine there for him to kill himself twice over, if he had the mind to. Her heart sped up as she swept silently down the hall to his room.

His door was still ajar, and she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw him seated at his desk, back to her, scribbling away at something.

Satisfied, Meg stepped back into the shadows, continuing down the hall. She had never been down this far before- always staying between her room and the main room. But now that she had the chance, she saw that the house was actually much larger than she had perceived it to be. The cavernous tunnels seemed to extend on and on. Meg suddenly wished for a candle, and decided that it would be in the interest of safety to take one. So she turned back, creeping past Erik's door so as not to disturb him. She took one of the black candles from next to the organ, and returned to the rear of the house, intent on exploring.

Most of the rooms were empty, or filled with simple pieces of furniture. Meg pushed open the door to another room, and was surprised to discover that it was filled with costumes, from flouncy stage ball gowns to slave costumes, all in varying sizes. They were old, but lightly used. As she held up one of the long, flowing ballet skirts, she thought about how long it had been since she had danced. Not since the night of the chandelier crash, she recalled. She realized, with a sigh, that she had probably fallen out of shape already. It had been at least two weeks since it had happened- and two weeks of no practicing would certainly not bode well for her. How often had she heard that it was important to practice every day, so her muscles would stay toned and in shape? On impulse, she bent her legs in a simple stretch, holding the position before she felt her muscles start to tense and ache. Disgusted with herself, she stood upright again. She wasn't terribly out of shape, but if she didn't practice soon, she knew she would be. Meg ran her fingers over the sheer material of the skirt. Maybe, she thought, she would practice here. The room was large enough, and there was bound to be a pair of toe shoes around here... A little more rummaging on Meg's part produced exactly what she had been looking for. Checking once more to make sure she was alone, Meg slipped out of her black dress and put on the costume. The skirt was long and flowing, extending down to her ankles. The top was a cutoff, leaving a few inches of her stomach bare, covered only by the elaborate fringe of the costume. This didn't bother Meg; she had danced on stage in costumes even more scant than this before.

She began to stretch her limbs out, twisting herself into strange positions, pulling on muscles most people would never know they had, loosening everything up. Then she started working on a simple practice routine that the dancers had always done- a simple set of transition steps. Gradually, she worked in more elaborate elements, performing perfect leaps and spins, body twirling gracefully around the room. She didn't notice the phantom standing in the doorway, silently admiring her skill. She seemed to be lost in the dance, he thought; as he grew lost in his music. Meg began to hum softly to herself- a rich, exotic melody that seemed to capture the essence of her dance perfectly. Erik watched her, transfixed, until finally, she spun to a stop, and sank to the floor.

Strangely, Meg found herself close to tears. Dancing had brought back to her memories of her old life, a life that she was beginning to think she might never get back. As she dropped on her knees to the cold stone floor, her vision became blurred. Her thoughts seemed to be a mess of the dreams she had once had, all the things she had wanted to do in life. Now it all seemed so hopeless... She drew her knees up to her chest and started crying quietly.

From where he stood in the shadows, Erik was taken aback by her sudden change in mood. Just a second ago, Meg had had the euphoric look of being lost in the beauty of her work, something that he was sure brought her happiness, and now she had completely broken down. He watched her for several more moments, before he saw her picking herself up off the ground. Feeling that he'd stayed long enough, he turned and left her alone, going back to the sanctuary that his room offered.

He was off of the morphine now- his senses had returned to him a short while ago, though as the morphine wore painfully off, it made him wish more than ever that he were dead. He stooped down to pick up the papers that had fallen to the floor in the wake of his raging temper. All of his sketches of Christine; Meg had seen them all, he thought. As he thumbed through them, sitting down at his desk as he did so, a sudden, breath-taking cold rushed over Erik. Seeing Christine's beautiful face before him, while realizing that she was gone forever made him freeze over with agony. It was as though his heart had left his body, leaving him a shell; empty and cold. Angry tears began to fall involuntarily from his blazing green eyes, some falling on the paper, staining it and causing the charcoal to run. He pushed them away quickly. The images were all he had left- he wouldn't ruin them with his own foolish tears.

Christine was gone- she would never come back to him. She was off somewhere, happily married to the fop, probably blissfully happy, all memory of her poor Erik forgotten.

The thought of Christine without him filled him with emptiness like he had never known before.

_She was about to agree... to stay with you... if you hadn't have cracked... if you would have kept to your plan... if you hadn't been **compassionate**... Christine would be here with you..._

'But not happily,' he thought sadly.

_Perhaps not. But she might have been. You never know. You'll never know, now. She was close... so close to being yours... for ever and always yours. But you let her go. You gave into her, just like she knew you would. She knew, phantom. She knew that if she begged hard enough, if she cried enough... she knew how to exploit your weakness. She is a good actress, you see. And she tricked you, phantom. Admit it. You were tricked._

"Christine would never do that to me," he said quietly, in his own defense. 'She wouldn't,' he assured himself. 'She loved me. She said she did. She kissed me- that was no trick..."

The voices laughed mockingly.

_Fool,_ they called him. _Stop trying to lie to yourself. Stop painting that beautiful illusion that Christine did it out of love for you. You know she didn't. She did it to save herself- to save herself from you!_

Erik laid his head down on the desk in despair. They were right. They were always right. Christine had tricked him. She had lied to him. She had betrayed him. And yet, his desire for her was still as strong as it had been since he had first known her. A wave of fatigue washed over him, and he found himself suddenly very tired. As he fell asleep, he cursed the effects of morphine.

* * *

He woke up hours later, having no idea what time it was. He shook himself groggily, and ventured out into the hallway. Meg was sitting in the main room, reading, though she wasn't really concentrating. Erik could see that by the way her eyes didn't move deliberately; she just stared at the page idly.

She looked up when she heard him enter the room, meeting his eyes with an icy stare.

"Are you sober right now?" she asked, with the same level of malevolence.

The words stung.

Erik scowled defensively. "What if I'm not?" he retorted.

Meg shrugged indifferently. "Don't think I care. I was just asking by way of conversation." Her eyes returned to her book, but he could tell that her concentration was still on him.

His temper flared. "Polite conversation topic, _Mademoiselle_," he said sarcastically. "Did your mother teach you any manners at all?"

"My mother taught me to use my head! She taught me how to look out for my own safety. If that compromises manners, then so be it, but I refuse to stay in this room with one who is influenced by drugs." She slammed her book shut to punctuate her point. "Now if you'll excuse me, _Monsieur_." She stood up, meaning to head off to her room.

Erik didn't move. His muscular frame blocked the door, and his eyes were cold.

"You're not going anywhere," he said silkily.

Meg narrowed her eyes. She brought her face very close to his. "Fine!" she hissed. "If you want to keep me prisoner out here instead of my room, far be it from me to stop you!" She stalked back to the chair she had been sitting in and sat down, arms crossing over her chest.

Erik wasn't sure what to do next. Meg was staring at him angrily, watching his every move. He sat down at the organ, and though his back was facing Meg, he could feel her watching him.

The minutes slipped by in uncomfortable silence, until, frustrated, Meg decided to stir things up a bit.

"So how long have you been an addict Erik?" she asked spitefully. "How long have you been numbing yourself with the morphine?"

She saw him straighten rigidly.

"That is none of your concern," he said, exercising as much self-restraint as he possessed.

"Oh, it's plenty of concern to me," she said casually, with the air of one discussing the weather. "Because I have to live with you down here. So I think it's within my rights to know what I'm dealing with."

Her tone made Erik writhe with the desire to hit her. She was so inadvertently condescending and cold...

His voice took on its normal cold contempt. "My dear," he said sarcastically. "You have yet to discover what you're dealing with down here. I can be anything I want to be, you see. I can be your worst nightmare, if I wish. I can be your deepest desire, or your greatest fear..."  
Goosebumps erupted all over Meg's arms. She was becoming lost in Erik's voice- his evil, seductive voice. It was everywhere; surrounding the air around her, stifling her. It was in her mind.

"I can be in your mind," his voice taunted in her mind.

"Or beside you," it whispered over her left shoulder.

"Or right in front of you," Erik said, the words returning to his mouth. "_My words can torture you into losing your very sanity..."_ He was all around her now; she felt lightheaded and faint. All she could hear was Erik's voice- twisting her soul, making her imagine things, terrible and beautiful at the same time...

She fell to her knees. "Erik- stop, please!" she begged. "Oh god- please make it stop!" Meg knew she was crying like a small child, but she didn't care. The voice was so terrible- so horrible to listen to. She covered her ears in terror and pain, but couldn't block them from her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could die. And then there was silence.

Meg opened her eyes, finding herself very much alone in the room. Erik was nowhere to be seen.

She picked herself up off the floor, dazed and confused. Still feeling lightheaded, she staggered down the hall to her room, shutting the door and this time, locking it.

* * *

A/N: dang nabbit- looks like i've made erik go off a little psycho again. wasn't really my intention, but oh well. i needed a little more animosity between these two. Next chapter, you'll see more of their human sides. IT WILL GET BETTER, I PROMISE! So review my darlings, cause i love you all! 


	11. Promise

Chapter 10 - Promise

(A/N: okay... here's the fluffy chappie I promised. hope you enjoy it, and as always, REVIEW)

* * *

Meg did not leave her room for three days, and Erik made no effort to attempt to draw her out. Still, he found himself inadvertently glancing down the hall to see if her door was still shut, or pausing outside her door for no reason. It was becoming a maddening tendency; every time he would do it he would stop himself and remind himself that he didn't care.

Or did he?

He found himself wondering that often over the three day period.

Did he- the monster that he was- did he possibly care about another human being?

No.

Yes.

Not in the sense of love, he thought- Christine was the one- the only- thing he would ever love in this world- but perhaps as just someone who could be there, to comfort him in his sorrow. He pondered this as he sat at the pipe organ, surrounded by his black mourning candles. It was probably true, he admitted to himself. Whether the offspring of his twisted desperation at the prospect of being lonely or a genuine feeling, he found himself thinking how he didn't mind having Meg around. She may not be Christine, he thought, but she was another living, breathing person, and not a creation of his mind or a figment of his imagination. Of course, he thought, after what he had done Meg would probably never want to see him again. Or hear him, for that matter. But there was something about Meg- she pushed him over the edge, and yet, he wasn't as angry as he knew he should be. She was so different from Christine- who had been submissive and passive. But Meg- Meg wasn't afraid to fight back. Meg had a will to live; a life that existed far above the confines of his black reality. He envied the spark of life that lived inside of her. The voices had been right, he realized. He wanted Meg to stay. The feeling slowly began to eat away at him, like an ocean gently eroding a beach, until his hostile exterior had been- if not permanently damaged- temporarily dented. It was a difficult emotion to explain, he thought to himself as he let his mind guide his fingers over the organ keys. He wasn't sure where these feelings would lead him; he was almost afraid to find out.

* * *

On the third evening, Erik found himself seated at the organ, playing a soft, sad song he had written earlier. His eyes were closed as his body swayed back and forth to the rhythm of the music. As he played the final chords and let himself emerge slowly from his trance-like state, he sensed another presence beside him. The petite blonde dancer was standing next to him, with tears in her eyes. She looked so forlorn that he forgot to be cruel.

"What is it, Meg?" he asked, looking slightly concerned.

In the smallest of voices, she said, "I miss Maman... so much..." Her lower lip trembled, and her hands shook. A solitary sob was wrenched from inside of her as tears began to roll down her cheeks.

Once the tears started, they didn't stop.

Meg collapsed next to the organ, resting her head on the side of it- the polished mahogany wood feeling cool on her skin. Her shoulder shook as she tried to suppress her anguished cries.

Erik hesitated, then knelt down beside her. He noticed how she watched his movements, wide-eyed and fearful.

"Don't cry, Meg," he whispered, suddenly feeling pity for her. He reached out his hand to her, as he had done a few days before. This time, however, Meg did not pull away from his touch, and he let his fingers brush lightly over her flawless skin. Then, unexpectedly, Meg covered his hand with hers, and brought it to her cheek. Erik felt her tears beneath her palm, and brushed the new ones away with his fingertips. She met his eyes with unspeakable sadness. "I- I just w-want to go h-home," she whispered.

A wave of compassion washed over Erik; an emotion he hadn't been sure he could feel anymore. Maybe it was the feeling of his hand on her face, or the way she was letting him comfort her, that made Erik feel that he wanted to promise her anything. His heart spoke for him as he said, "I'll get you out of here, Meg."

Her eyes widened, and she gazed at him questioningly.

"I swear I will," he went on. "You'll see you mother again- I swear it."

"You- you really will?" she breathed, hardly daring to believe.

"Yes."

Meg let her eyes close for a moment, thinking of her home, and her mother, and of Erik's promise. Erik was a total enigma to her now. He had been so cruel and wicked to her three days ago, and now, when she needed someone to comfort her... here he was. Maybe, she thought, maybe if she reached out to him now... maybe she could break the walls around him.

When she opened her eyes, Meg did something that Erik wasn't at all prepared for. She shifted forward, putting her arms around him and burying her face in his shirt. Erik was fully taken aback by this; he found himself afraid and unsure of what to do. Timidly, he closed his arms around her small form.

A strange thing happened to Meg when he did this. She felt suddenly like she was already home- safe and warm, no longer in the dark or afraid. The feeling startled her, but she didn't want to lose it. She closed her eyes and let Erik hold her.

The moments slowly passed by; Erik wasn't sure how much time had gone by when he felt Meg stop moving, having fallen asleep in his arms. He looked down at her with a subdued sense of wonder. She had been so afraid of him, and now here she was... letting him hold her like...

_Like someone who cares for her would_, his mind filled in.

Suddenly, Erik cared.

He cared very much.

Meg had broken his defenses, his resistance to all other human life. He had tried to push her away, but it had all been in vain. In that one moment, he knew.

He shifted slightly so that he could pick her up, cradling her gently against him, and carrying her to her room. He laid her on the bed gently, pulling the black velvet comforter around her. Meg yawned peacefully in her sleep, and Erik tried to stifle the smile that was threatening to appear on his face. He brushed a few strands of blonde hair out of her face, standing over her for another moment before turning to leave.

* * *

He thought of Meg until the candles burned low. Lying on his back in his coffin, he thought about how awful he had been to her, and how she would probably never think of him as anything but a monster.

That night his dreams were filled with pictures of Meg, running from him fearfully, and begging him to make the voice stop tormenting her. He woke up, cringing with shame. Why had he done those things? He asked himself furiously. It was the voices, he thought angrily. They had put thoughts in his head... they made him lose his temper, and he hated himself because of it. Erik's thoughts were conflicted as he lie there, mulling over his predicament. He couldn't deny the fact that he was starting to have some feelings- that he wasn't sure he could define- for Meg, but felt like he was betraying Christine- the one he had sworn would be his only love.

No, he thought firmly. Meg could never be anything more to him than a friend. Christine still held his heart- she would have it forever.

But he couldn't help wondering what would happen if things could be different...

* * *

see... i told you things would get fluffy. 

i understand that this sudden "truce" might seem a little out of character, considering what has happened thus far, but they're starting to warm up to each other... :) Review and tell me if you like...!


	12. Talk

Chapter 11- Talk

A/N: More fluff in this chapter! so for those who love it, sit back and enjoy! For those who don't, well... put up with it any way and let me kno how you feel about it! I'm taking artistic liscence on the story of Meg's father. It's completely my imagination working- just to give a little backstory.

to jokaryn- thanks for your reviews... they just kept coming... its nice to get feedback- thanks for giving me the pros AND the cons! as for your personal want-to-know on how old i am, well... suffice it to say that i am older than twelve and younger than twenty! keep reviewing!

also- just a note- i did a little reasearch, and found out that the drug morphine was first discovered in the early 1800s. Its a bi-product of opium, which, Erik is also experiments with in Susan Kay's Phantom. just thought i'd let you know! but after this, i'm not sure if we'll hear much from the drugs again...

* * *

The very next day, Erik kept his promise. Meg awoke to find him working on the rocks, attempting to move them. He seemed to be making a little progress, but the job still seemed relatively hopeless. Some of the boulders toward the top of the pile were extremely large. 

Erik didn't notice Meg come out into the main room. She stood in the doorway, watching him with a faraway look, thinking. Part of her was still wondering if the events of the previous night had actually taken place, but another part of her knew that they had. She had seen a completely new and different side of Erik last night- one that she found herself liking. He had been so gentle and compassionate; she remembered- it was as though the cold-hearted man she had known had completely melted away. With a slight shiver, Meg recalled the feeling of his arms encircling her. She had definitely felt something; a feeling she couldn't ignore, a stirring sense of something she wasn't sure she could name. But whatever it was, Meg was longing to feel it again.

Erik noticed Meg a moment later, as he rested against the rocks- having just caused a notably large one to shift and splash into the lake. He locked eyes with her.

Holding his gaze, he seemed to send out a silent request... _Come to me..._

Meg lifted up her skirts, walking through the water and coming to stand beside him.

He looked mildly surprised that she had come out- he would have thought she would want to keep as much distance between them as possible.

"I wasn't sure you'd keep your word," said Meg passively.

"I made a promise, didn't I?" he challenged.

Meg nodded. "Yes. But I've lived enough to know not to trust a promise. They are so often false." She stared out across the water wistfully.

"What other false promises have you heard, Meg?" Erik asked quietly.

Meg let out a sigh. "Enough," she said. She brushed a piece of hair out of her eyes and continued, not looking at Erik when she spoke, slowly growing lost in her own world of memory. "My father promised me he would return. He left us on my fifth birthday. He said he was going to Rouen or somewhere to find work... I never really understood why. I wanted to know why he was leaving me on my birthday. He promised me he would return, before my next one, and that he would bring me a present beyond my wildest dreams. That was the last time I saw him. He wrote to me a few times... every time his letters would come, Maman would cry. My sixth year came, and passed, and no sign of him. I began to realize- though I think I always knew- that there was no present; that he would never come back. His letters stopped coming, and Maman and I moved on with our lives. I never found out what happened to him." She snapped back to reality, slightly embarrassed that she had gone off like that. "But you probably do not wish to hear of my sorrows. They are petty next to everything else, I am sure..."

Erik shrugged, but said nothing. Truthfully, he didn't mind it. He liked it when Meg spoke- he liked hearing the sound of her voice; light, and musical and innocent. He noticed Meg timidly fall silent. Determined to keep the conversation going, he asked, "How old were you when you first became a dancer?" He knew the answer to that question; he had seen the first day ten-year-old Meg had come to the Opera. He had been in his mid-teens, and had watched her from the rafters as she and the other new ballet "rats" had performed the audition routine. But he was hoping that by raising the topic, he might start Meg off talking again.

"I was ten," said Meg reminiscently, trailing her fingers along the stone edifice, a smile passing over her fair face as she recalled the memory. "I was so excited then- it had always been my dream to be a part of the opera. Ever since my mother brought me to my first show, when I was no more than a child. She used to be in the corps de ballet- I remember watching her and thinking of how pretty she looked, and how I wanted to be like her. I was dancing as soon as I could walk- I can't remember it ever not being a part of my life. I practiced so hard- I knew I just had to make the auditions. Then the day came... I was so nervous; I feared I would forget the steps. But when I got on stage, all my fright melted away." Her smile widened. "I felt like I was part of the music... I let it lead me. Maman said she had never seen me dance so well as I did that day. She said the angels had come down that day and were leading me. I used to believe in angels..." She trailed off, realizing that she had done it again. "I'm sorry. I've gone off again," she said.

"I like it when you talk," Erik said, the words slipping out of his mouth before he could stop them.

Meg avoided his eyes; she looked slightly uncomfortable, and unsure of what to say. "I mean-" he tried to recover. "-it's just that... I have never really had anyone here... to talk to. It's just... strange. New. And... different."

Meg glanced up, her blue eyes staring into his green ones. She had the sudden sensation that she was falling, and realized suddenly that they were standing very close together. Her feet had involuntarily moved forward, though she couldn't remember doing so. Mere inches separated them. She heard Erik suck in a sharp breath, obviously disconcerted by her closeness. Something passed between them in an instant- their eyes were unable to look away from each other.

There was a loud humming in Meg's ears; she felt like she was lost in a dream, cut off from reality, lost in a sea of green waves edged with gold...

And then he moved away.

It took Meg a moment to come to her senses, when she finally realized that she was staring at a patch of thin air. She also realized that she was disappointed that the moment hadn't lasted.

* * *

In her room later that night, guilt washed over Meg like an rising ocean tide. Her thoughts were confused- and almost all of those thoughts were about Erik. She was beginning to understand where all his anger had come from, and was surprised that it hadn't dawned on her before. 

The answer was Christine.

Of course, Meg thought. Why didn't I see it before? It provided a plausible explanation for Erik's behavior. Christine had left him, his love had gone unrequited. The man was bound to be a little moody, she thought. It was all making sense. And his sudden kindness toward her... _It means nothing,_ she assured herself.

Best to forget it.

But the mere thought of Erik was enough to keep her occupied for a considerable amount of time. She would wonder constantly about him- the mysterious "phantom of the opera". How had he come to the Opera House? How had he met Christine, and become her angel of music? And what exactly had happened in the depths of the Opera on the night of the chandelier crash? Meg fell asleep wondering this, and her thoughts turned into dreams that were very strange. . .

* * *

A/N: short…. Kind of boring… I know. I'm not as happy as I could be with this chapter…. I'm not happy in general right now cause I just found out that I might have to have (another) oral surgery sometime soon….. which is a different story completely, but it totally screwed my day. 

okay... i must now take a poll: How many people want to see more fluff? And how many of you want more angst? And who just wants both? LET ME KNOW, MY DARLING READERS! Because I wanna write what u wanna read! I live for feedback, after all. -puts on puppy face and begs- so review for me, please?

please? pretty please?

gracias!


	13. Fantasy

Chapter 12- Fantasy

(This is Meg's very strange dream... it was an idea that came to me the other day during english class... this might strike some people as kind of weird, but i happen to have a Master's Degree in Weirdness! okay, not really, but hey- fan fiction sure beats Shakespeare!)

also:

**Rue Marie**- glad i made you... laugh?... with my fluff... all i can say is, if that's what fluff does for you, this story may get pretty... interesting to read. but just tell me when its getting too fluffy, cause i have a tendency to cross the line between fluff and fluffy insanity. :) p.s.- i haven't had a chance to write a final review for your story, but i did read your author's notes... and I WANT THE DETECTIVE DEAD! KILL HIM! VIOLENTLY-looks at other readers who look very confused and disturbed by this sudden use of CapsLock. ummm... everybody check out Rue Marie's story, Into La Ment. You'll get it. :)

Also:

**Daroga Daae**: thanks for your review! I hope you like it so far… and just so you know, I have read the book by Gaston Leroux. So with that in mind, send me your comments!

* * *

(A/N: remember, this is all Meg's dream) 

Meg was standing on the stage, alone.

Her ballet costume billowed out around her- a long, thin skirt made of aquamarine chiffon and tulle. Her golden hair fell gracefully around her shoulders as she struck her opening pose, the lime lights growing brighter and the curtain rising. Her heart pounded as she saw the crowds, all watching her and only her. The music began, bubbling up from the orchestra pit. Meg rose up _en pointe_, moving through the positions. As the music intensified, Meg's feet moved faster and more gracefully over the wooden stage. She executed her _grand jete_ with flawless perfection, and smiled at the applause from the crowd.

The song ended, and the audience rose to its feet, cheering and applauding tumultuously as Meg dipped her head into a graceful bow.

Then, it seemed, the sounds of clapping seemed to become distant, as though Meg were walking farther and farther away. And then, one by one, the crowds evaporated into thin air, like spectral ghosts, leaving Meg alone in the theatre. A sudden hollowness filled her ears- a noisy emptiness the like of which she had never heard before. Suddenly, she heard the swish of a cloak, and the sound of footsteps; slow and predatorily in nature. Meg's heart pounded, and she turned round, looking for whomever was there to appear. The lights suddenly dimmed, fading Meg into darkness. Her breath caught in her throat as she felt a presence materialize behind her- so close that she could feel his warm breath on the back of her neck. She knew who it was the moment she felt the gloved hand slip around her waist commandingly. He turned Meg's body around to face him, and took her other hand, holding it firmly. The stage lights came on again, though nearly ten times dimmer than they were normally- burning like the embers of a dying fire. The light cast dim shadows across the stage, but kept the phantom's face in the darkness. Masked or no, Meg couldn't tell. And then the dance. The phantom began to lead Meg around the stage, in a strange dance that her feet somehow knew the steps to. It was no waltz- it was much slower and far more passionate, in the exaggeration of the movements. Meg had no idea how long the dance lasted- for here in the realm of fantasy, time knew no bounds and governed no existence. They were simply there: Meg and the phantom, together.

They slowed, twirling in smaller and smaller circles until finally, they came to a stop. His face was still obscured by the shadows, and Meg had the fleeting suspicion that he was wearing no mask. She reached up a hand, intending to touch his face that was normally hidden... She was so close she could feel the heat of his skin...

And then he was gone.

Disappeared into thin air.

His departure evoked a strange feeling deep within Meg. She felt- more so than she had ever before- truly and utterly alone, as though all others in the human race had abandoned her. There was a silence around her, engulfing her from all sides like a cloud of evanescent mist, closing her in and misleading her, until there was no manner of escape.

It was this feeling of total isolation that turned Meg's dream into a nightmare.

She woke up, confused, and her body refused to let her fall back to sleep for the rest of the night.

* * *

A/N: okay- weird, I know. But things will heat up in the next chapter, I promise! So review, my darlings! 


	14. Rage

Chapter 13- Rage

A/N: oh, the drama i make these poor characters go through... but we like drama, don't we? REVIEW!

* * *

Meg got out of bed a few hours later, still plagued by insomnia.

She stepped into the hall, and into a deafening silence like the one she had experienced in the dream. Her heart began to pound unpleasantly at the parallel. Was this a sign, she wondered, that things would soon turn out like they had in her dream? _But what did the dream mean?_ Her mind screamed.

She seated herself on the organ bench, thinking.

Maybe it was a warning of something. Something that was telling her that she would be alone... She swallowed. What if it meant that Erik was going to die, and leave her alone down here? She shuddered. If he died, her chances of escape would be slim to none. She would be doomed to live down here, until supplies ran out and she starved to death. Another though crossed her mind- If Erik did die, what would she do with his body? Another sadistic shiver ran down her spine. There was always the coffin, she thought. But how could she live- knowing that there was a dead body...?

Meg shook herself. This was nonsense. Erik wasn't going to die.

She was just being paranoid.

But a deeper intuition than her mind told her not to rule out the possibility...

Meg buried her head in her hands. She had to get out of here, she thought desperately. This place was twisting her mind, fooling her senses to the point where she barely knew herself- barely remembered who she had been.

She stared off into space, and her mind began to muse inadvertently.

What would she do if Erik died?

Would feel any sadness at all? She hadn't known him for that long, and they had been at odds with each other for most of that time. And yet despite that, Meg found herself feeling as though Erik were her only lifeline- that she needed him now to survive. Which was partially true, but then, she wondered, would the feeling go away once they were out? What would it be like when they did get out, and had to say goodbye. Would Erik even care?

_Probably not_, she thought to herself. Why should he care? He had no reason to. But somehow, Meg got the impression that he did.

She shook herself in frustration.

* * *

When Erik came out a few hours later, Meg was waiting for him to arrive, sitting anxiously on the organ bench, looking as though she had something important to say.

When he entered, though he saw her expression, he merely nodded to acknowledge her presence. This gesture of indifference made Meg angry. The thought that Erik could ignore her that easily frustrated and enraged her.

She narrowed her eyes at him, but he took no notice. He turned his back on her.

Meg's voice was icy as she asked her question. "What happened between you and Christine the night of the chandelier crash?"

His spine went rigid.

"That is none of your concern," he said through clenched teeth.

Meg knew she had hit his weak spot. She stood up, experiencing a sudden feeling of dominance.

"None of my concern?" she asked. "And why not? What happened down here that you're afraid to tell?"

"I am not discussing this matter right now, _Mademoiselle_," he said flatly, still not facing her.

But Meg had no intention of stopping. "How did you meet Christine?" she pressed on. "How did you make her believe you were really an angel? She used to come raving about it all the time to me. It was always "my angel this" and "the angel said that"! She confided in me about her secret lessons, and how you were the most important thing in the world to her! How ever did you craft such an elaborate lie, Erik?" Meg asked, voice full of venom. "No doubt it was an award-winning performance. I would love to hear of it-"

Erik spun around wildly to face Meg. His eyes were dangerous, and she knew that another word coming from her mouth was liable to send him over the edge. But pride or ego caused her to continue. "Why did you do it, Erik?" she asked. "The chandelier, the destruction of this opera house. Why did you do it? Christine feared you enough already- did you really think showing her that side of you was going to do anything?"

Meg got no further.

Erik had her against the wall in an instant, hands gripping her shoulders so roughly she felt the bone grind into the stone of the structure behind her. All courage left her suddenly, and she became again like a small animal, looking into the eyes of a vicious bird of prey. There was no compassion in Erik's steely green eyes, no glow of humanity. He appeared completely animalistic now, as if ready to strangle the life out of Meg.

"_Not... another... word_..." he hissed through clenched teeth. "Do you understand that?"

Meg nodded, terrified, praying that he would let her go.

But her prayers were unanswered, for Erik began to speak again, in a deathly low tone which, though inaudible, held her attention and filled her heart with a fear like she had never experienced before in her life.

"You will never mention her name again, in my presence. _Is that clear_?"

She nodded again. Her eyes widened as she felt Erik's long, skeletal fingers close around her throat- not hard enough to be choking her, but firmly enough to let her know that he was perfectly capable of doing so.

"I am not a forgiving man, Marguerite," he said silkily, calling Meg by her full name. "You are foolish if you haven't learned that yet. I could kill you right now, if I wanted to. There's no one here to stop me... no one that would hear you scream." His fingers tightened around her throat, and she involuntarily whimpered. His eyes suddenly locked with hers, and she couldn't look away. It was like there was some kind of magnetic force, holding their gazes together.

Erik continued. "If you value your life... you will learn to hold your tongue. Otherwise the consequences could be... _severe_..." He tightened his grip harder for a split second before releasing her. Meg's feet automatically moved her as far away from Erik as possible. As she turned to go to her room, Erik's voice stopped her again.

"Remember, Meg," he said, "that you are my prisoner down here. I can choose to get you out... or I can leave those rocks right where they are. Know this: it makes no difference to me."

Angry tears filled Meg's eyes as she ran for her room.

Erik sighed and sat down. They were back to where they had started from, he thought.

_Is this to be war between us, Meg?_ He wondered.

He could make Meg's life a hell if he wanted to...

* * *

A/N: oh, the drama! next chapter should be interesting, as meg and erik will try to make each other's life hell, cause they're two stupid babies who don't realize that they need each other! Just a note: i have written a fluffy scene (yes, in honor of Valentine's day, but i might not get it posted in time. It will be coming soon though, but i can't say anything for sure!) and now... REVIEW! 


	15. War

Chapter 14- War

A/N: to jokarynn: i know, i know you want some more passion and not just fluff. you aren't the only one. and i promise- there WILL be some heavier romance... but my plotline is depending on this little "wind-up" period... so just bear with me, please-oh-please-oh please? i'm a crazy writer who spends WAYYY too much time in front of her computer... indulge me! muah! love yeh! also: i saw that u reviewed my other story... thank you so so much! i'm thrilled to hear that you like my work-blushes- hope you enjoy this chapter!

also: angelofmusic45- brava, brava, bravissima! you read Meg's character perfectly, my friend! you'll see why in this chapter! ENJOY!

* * *

The rocks remained immobile for a week.

Erik knew that Meg was seething with a quiet rage; she had come out of her room a few days before, and her mannerisms had betrayed her emotions. She wanted to get out- badly- but he intended to torment her with the irony of it all, seeing how long it would be before she broke down. It was a sick game to play, but Erik was beginning to feel very cynical.

His tactics were working, too, to Meg's dismay. She knew what he was trying to do, and tried to resist giving in to it. She knew what he wanted. He wanted to see her suffer, see her cry, see her totally lose control of herself. She was determined not to do it. After all, she had always been resourceful, and had her own plan to make Erik pay.

In this way, the war began. . . .

* * *

Meg's retaliation struck almost instantaneously. For the first few days, she did everything in her power to annoy Erik. She stood over his shoulder while he composed, plagued him with thousands of petty questions and always "misplaced" his music.

The two of them quickly became caught up in their little game- to see which of the two could hold out the longest. Erik refused to be irritated by Meg- even when he had the persistent urge to murder her and go back to his comfortable silence- he remained indifferent on the outside.  
Likewise, Meg appeared unperturbed by the fact that Erik was making no progress on getting them out.

But a few nights after this little play had started, explosions began.

Erik was on the edge of his temper when Meg came into the room yet again. She sat down next to Erik at the organ. He stiffened at her closeness, but said nothing. Instead, he continued scribbling notes on a sheet of staff paper. Meg began drumming her fingers on the organ top, taking note of how Erik's free hand curled itself into a fist- a sure sign of his irritation. She suppressed a smile that was threatening to ruin her whole scheme.

Beside her, Erik was quickly growing agitated. He was trying to work out a sharp, staccato piece in his mind- and he needed total silence. Meg's drumming was becoming like the sound of a sledgehammer striking relentlessly at a stone wall. In the otherwise silence of the lair, the sound was magnified what seemed like twenty times over. As he tried harder and harder to block the sound from his mind, it became harder and harder to concentrate on the music he was trying to write. Finally, his patience was lost. His fisted hand slammed suddenly down on the hard, polished wood of the organ top.

Meg's tapping continued. "I'm sorry," she said mildly. "Am I annoying you?" Her voice hinted of laughter, and Erik hated her for it.

Her words were the final straw, and he lost control. He pounded the surface of the organ again, head snapping up, eyes wild.

"_Yes_ Meg, you are annoying me!" he yelled, louder than she had anticipated. "You are the most annoying creature on the planet at this moment, as far as I am concerned!"

Meg smiled inwardly.

"I'm terribly sorry, Erik," she said innocently. "I didn't think I was doing anything wrong."

"Didn't- you little _liar_!" he snarled. "You know perfectly well that I work in _silence_!"

"Well, I was simply making my own music in my own head!" Meg retorted. "And I can do that without the assistance of strange voices..."

"You- what?" Erik froze. How did Meg know about the voices?

"Don't think I haven't heard you talking to yourself, muttering under your breath. You do it more than you think you do. Tell me- is your alter ego as strange as you are? Because if it is, that entirely makes things-"

"SILENCE!" he shouted. He stood up, and Meg stood with him, defiant. The only sound was that of the organ bench tipping over from the sudden displacement of their weight. When the clatter had faded away through the chamber, Erik and Meg were left standing, each staring murderously at the other, both breathing slightly harder than normal out of rage. Erik took Meg by the chin, tilting her face upward beneath his steely grip, so that she met his eyes. Coming close to her face as he had done a few nights before, he whispered, "Hear that?" There was silence in the chamber. "This is all I want to hear from now on. _Total, complete silence!_"

Meg's bright blue eyes were narrow, and Erik suddenly had the impression that she was no longer intimidated by him. This realization made Erik nervous. If Meg no longer feared him, then he held no power over her anymore.

Meg saw something flicker in Erik's eyes- he lost the spark of agitation that had been there a few moments before. Meg's expression also softened, but if Erik hadn't been paying very close attention, he would have missed it.

But he didn't miss it.

A moment of truce seemed to pass through them, a brief interlude in their battle, a second of peace. Slowly, Erik's hand released its grip on Meg's chin, and he took a step back.

Meg held his gaze, as though expecting him to say or do something. But she blinked, and a second later, Erik had gone.

Usually, Meg was the one to remain in her room for extended periods of time, but this time, it was Erik's turn. Meg neither saw nor heard from the phantom for what seemed like two days, at the very least. And she was surprised to find that without him, the lair was cold and lonely.

* * *

That night, as she lay in bed, half between waking and sleeping, her drowsy thoughts wondered what Erik was doing in his room. Whatever it was, she hoped it wasn't morphine. She knew he had enough to kill himself...

_Enough to kill himself... _

She sat up with a jolt, remembering the dream.

She had felt alone in the dream, just like she did now. She flung the covers aside and jumped out of bed, hurrying down the hall to Erik's room. She opened the door, heart racing, praying that her dream didn't mean what she thought it meant...

Erik was seated at his desk, back to her.

When he heard the door open, he jumped and turned around, getting to his feet instinctively.

"What in the name of hell?"

As he spun around, Meg saw that his shirt was open in the front, and the dim candlelight defined his masculine, muscular chest.

Meg felt herself turn red. She hadn't meant to barge in on him like this. "I-I'm sorry," she stumbled. "I just wanted to- I mean... I just-"

"Just what?" he asked.

"Just... oh, nothing." She looked away.

"Barging into my room in the middle of the night, wearing nothing but your nightgown and looking as scared as you do does not constitute nothing, Meg," Erik said. "You look like you've seen a ghost, anyway."

At his comment about her nightgown, Meg realized that in her hurry, she hadn't bothered to don a robe or any sort of covering. The thin, black, lace-trimmed shift left her shoulders exposed and clung to her body like a second skin. Instinctively, she folded her arms across her chest, in an effort to cover herself.

Erik took a step toward her. "Why did you come here, Meg?" he asked, in his smooth, silk-trimmed voice.

There was a strange, seductive quality to the atmosphere, Meg noted as she began to feel slightly lightheaded.

"I-I..." she couldn't choose the words.

"You..." Erik prompted.

"I wanted to make sure you were all right!" Meg spat out, knowing how stupid the words sounded. She rambled on. "I had this awful dream the other night, and I thought that it might be a sign or something, and I hadn't heard anything from you for the past few days, and..." she stopped mid-sentence before she said too much.

Erik looked like he wanted to laugh, but decided against it. Instead, his voice turned cold. "Well I'm fine," he said firmly. "Now if you wouldn't mind not barging in on me in the future- I find it most disconcerting."

He expected Meg to turn and leave, but she made no such move.

Her eyes were now on his coffin.

"Why do you sleep there?" she asked. "It's morbid."

He gave a harsh laugh. "So?"

"There are other bedrooms in this house, Erik," Meg said wearily. "I just wish you didn't sleep in a coffin."

"It should be of no concern to you," said Erik, in an attempt to get Meg to leave. Her being there was having... an adverse effect on his mental process. She looked striking in her nightgown- he had the sudden desire to...

He shook himself.

"Go back to bed, Meg," he said firmly.

"Erik-"

"_Go_."

Meg didn't listen. Instead, she lost her temper for what seemed like the millionth time that week.

"You have no authority over me," she said forcefully. "Why can't you just accept that I am not afraid of you? I was, but I'm not anymore! All I want to do is to go home! I want to get out of here, so I'll never have to see you again!" As soon as the words had left her mouth, Meg regretted them. Erik looked as though she had struck him with her words. He turned away, and sat down again. The mood in the room was tense, as Meg watched him for any sign of what he was feeling.

Timidly, she walked over to where he sat. "Erik- I didn't mean it," she said.

"Yes you did," he growled. "You want to get out of here as soon as possible, because you can't stand to spend any more time in my presence."

Meg didn't respond, and Erik went on.

"Maybe you won't ever get out," he said, staring off into space. "Maybe you'll just be doomed to live down here forever-" his eyes shifted, coming back to life to connect with hers. "-with me."

Meg felt her eyes welling up with tears of despair. "You really mean to keep me prisoner?" she whispered. Bowing her head, she knew that the battle was lost. She could instigate as much as she wanted, but Erik still had power over her, no matter how she tried to deny it. "Very well then," she said. "I can see I have no power to dissuade you. I only hope that my life is taken from me quickly. I would rather death come than spend my days down here."

Each word was like a knife twisting itself into Erik's heart. Each was lined with a painful truth- the truth that Meg hated it down here, and hated him as well.

With those words Meg left, leaving Erik in solitude again. He stood still for a moment or two, and then climbed into his coffin, wanting nothing more than several hours' sleep.

* * *

**review!**


	16. Intoxication

Chapter 15- Intoxication

A/N: To Han Futsu: Anti-Normal- your review gave me some inspiration for this chapter... i read it and was like hmmmm... might be something interesting here...

so kudos for this chapter goes to you, my friend!

* * *

Erik woke up some time later, feeling miserable. Getting out of his coffin, he stepped out into the hall. He could hear Meg in the main room, and decided to delay going there, as they obviously weren't on speaking terms with one another after their fight the previous night. Instead of going to the front of the lair, he decided to go the opposite way, toward the back of the cave. He entered his storeroom, suddenly hungry. This was an odd feeling for him. He had never had the desire to eat before, but now, he felt his stomach grumbling angrily. Erik began to search through the crates, but to his dismay, most of them were empty. There was one, which held a few loaves of dried bread and some cheese, but otherwise, he realized with a jolt, they were out of food. Erik massaged his temple, thinking. _No food. Great_. So much for him deciding to keep Meg down here. He just wanted to make her suffer- he didn't want to cause her to starve to death. He would have to get them out now. With a sigh, he closed the crate, deciding to save the food for Meg. Looking over at the shelf on the opposite side of the room, he breathed a sigh of relief to see that there was still plenty of wine. He had collected bottles over the years, storing them all, saving them for no particular reason. As he looked at them, an idea came to his mind...

* * *

Meg was pacing distractedly in the front room, angry tears of frustration welling in her eyes. This wasn't fair... none of this was fair... Why did it have to be her, stranded down here, with no means of escape? She felt the crucifix on her neck- the one she had worn since her christening day- nearly nineteen years ago. God really was cruel, she thought. Why else would he send her to live with the Devil himself? She stopped her pacing for a moment, and looked upward at the damp stone roof that entombed her in this hell.

"What do you ask of me, God?" she said out loud. "What is it that you want me to do? Why have you forsaken me here? Am I still supposed to believe in You?" She felt all her compressed anger coming forth. "What do you want me to do?" she asked again. "Dammit- _what do you want me to do_!" she nearly shouted. When the words had left her, Meg felt guilty. She had been raised a devout Catholic, and here she was, swearing at God. Had she been in the outside world, her language would have cost her a heavy penance from the priest at her church, which, up until she had been trapped, she had visited every week. But now, it seemed that religion mattered for nothing- it meant nothing to her down here.

"Well obviously your God isn't going to help you," came a cold voice from behind her. Meg whirled around to see Erik standing in the doorframe, looking smug.

"What do you want?" she asked bitterly.

As he walked closer, she noticed he carried two wine bottles.

"What's the occasion?" she asked sarcastically.

Erik uncorked one of the bottles. "Its not happy news," he said with a sardonic grin. He glanced up at her for a second, green eyes flashing in the candlelight, before uncorking the second bottle. "We're running out of food."

He took a long drink from one of the bottles, then looked back up at Meg. He saw her face pale. "Running out food?"

"Yes." He held the other bottle of wine out to her. Meg took it, but didn't drink. "We have plenty of this stuff," Erik went on, taking another drink. "So if we're lucky, the alcohol will kill us."

"Suicides go to hell, you know," she said coolly.

Erik shrugged. "Might be a fun change," he said.

Meg glared at him. "Well just because you're not concerned for the well-being of your soul, doesn't mean I'm going to play along!"

Erik took a few steps toward her, so that they were standing very close- a matter of inches separating them. "Why not?" he asked in a soft voice, though harsh. He let his finger brush a stray lock of her golden hair. "It might be fun..."

His eyes trailed down to the crucifix around her neck. Meg flinched as he reached out and took the religious icon in his hand, fingers brushing against the skin on her neck.

He gave a soft laugh. "Religion. Petty game, really. You think this will save you, Meg? This little icon of a feeble faith? Religion has no meaning- it is folly. There's no God. We're just multitudes of hopeless souls, running around aimlessly, in this twisted world of our sinful creations. There's nothing that can save any of us. To believe is to be blinded to all logic and knowledge. Abandon your faith, Meg. It will not save you." He brought his face closer to whisper into her ear. "_Nothing will save you..._"

As Erik pulled away, Meg found herself once again under the sick, seductive spell that his words cast on her.

"Let go, Meg," Erik said, coaxingly. "Let go of everything..." His hand tightened on her crucifix as he pulled it off of her neck. Meg winced in pain as the golden chain snapped off. With a defeated clink, the cross fell to the floor. Meg let her gaze drift up to meet Erik's. She saw in his eyes a glint of danger- a challenge. He was daring her to drink... daring her to cross the threshold from innocence to knowledge. She would show him... Part of her felt like crying with despair and anguish, but another part of her seethed with anger and pride. That part of her overpowered her fear, and with a defiant look in her eye, she raised the bottle to her lips.

"Cheers," she said icily, before taking a long drink. The wine flooded down her throat- burning slightly as she was unused to such large quantities of it at once. Aside from the wine at weekly Mass, Meg had never drank before in her life. She had the sinking suspicion that Erik knew this and was testing her, but she refused to quit. Abandoning all reason, she drank more and more, while beside her, Erik did the same.

She felt the alcohol slowly seeping through her body to her brain. She began to feel light headed, and giggled.

"What?" Erik growled. He was far from drunkenness- he was no stranger to alcohol; it would take far more than a few drinks to get him intoxicated to the point of insanity.

"Nothing," Meg said, giggling again. She began to twirl around wildly. "Wheee!" she cheered girlishly. "Come on, Erik- this is fun!" she said.

Erik smiled to himself. This was exactly what he had been anticipating. Meg would soon be so drunk, she wouldn't know up from down. Meg staggered over and grabbed Erik's hands. "Come on!" she said, twirling in a circle. Meg was giggling uncontrollably now as they twirled. "I feel so strange, Erik," said Meg excitedly. "The whole world is spinning... spinning... spinning..." As she said this, she turned faster and faster. Erik felt their feet entangle, and before he could stop it, he felt them falling to the ground. He went down first, with Meg falling down on top of him. A giggle escaped her lips.

"Sorry," she said, not looking sorry at all.

"I'm sure," Erik growled, waiting for Meg to get off of him. But the minutes passed, and she didn't move. She sat- or rather, laid- sprawled out on top of him, with a faraway look in her eyes. He saw her face go from drunken to tired. She yawned suddenly, and laid her head down on Erik's chest.

"Mmmm- tired now," she mumbled. "Wanna sleep... 'night..."

She was asleep in minutes.

Erik, who still was not fully drunk, was taken aback by Meg's actions. He suddenly felt the strong need to touch her, and his hand came to rest gingerly on her hair, fingers running through the blonde tendrils. Meg sighed, and shifted, snuggling closer to him. Erik sighed too, but in frustration. If only, he thought. If only Meg wasn't drunk. If only she'd remember this tomorrow. If only this meant something. But he knew that it didn't.

He put Meg to bed awhile later, unlacing her corset and removing her dress, leaving her in her chemise to sleep in. He knew she wouldn't remember any of this tomorrow morning- and if things worked his way, tomorrow morning she would never have to see him again.

* * *

A/N: how's THAT for sexual tension? tee hee- i'm evil. so review... and i'll put up another chapter! 


	17. Amnesia

Chapter 16- Amnesia

A/N: hey guys. i'm really pissed off right now... so this might not be a fuzzy little chapter.

* * *

The next morning, Meg woke to a raging headache. She felt like the entire orchestra from the opera was contained inside her head and was pounding out the most awful song imaginable. She sat up and pressed a hand to her forehead, feeling dazed.

_Where was I last night? _

She tried to remember, but the memories were all but erased. As she swung her legs out of bed and stood up- rather unsteadily- a wave of nausea rushed over her. Her knees carried her over to where her chamber pot sat, before giving out. The next sound to be heard was that of Meg throwing up. Her throat burned as the vomit poured out of her. She choked and sputtered, feeling sicker than she had ever felt before. When it seemed that she had completely emptied her stomach of its contents, she tried to stand up again, reaching out to the wall for support for her unsteady legs. Slowly, she wobbled into the bathroom that was adjoined to her bedroom. It was quite impressive- there was a large bathtub, tiled with opal and gold tiles, sunken into the floor so that it was more like a shallow pool. To Meg's surprise, there were taps out of which poured running water. She was mildly excited by this- so use was she to taking baths out of crude washtubs that had to be filled by hand. Especially down here, running water seemed a luxury.

She let the cold water run for several minutes, filling the large tub as she undressed. She stepped in with a gasp- the water was colder than she had expected, but nonetheless, Meg knew that it would bring her back to reality, after whatever she had done the night before. She eased her body in, sinking lower and lower until her head was just barely above the surface. Then, holding her breath, she let the water cover her. She stayed under until she felt it flooding her nasal cavities, then sat back up, coughing once or twice. She felt better instantly. Her head still pounded, but the cold water was helping to relieve some of the pressure. Meg closed her eyes, resting her head back on the edge of the bathtub.

She began to feel very drowsy...

* * *

Meg started, eyes fluttering open. She was still lying in the bath, though she realized that the water was now room temperature. She had no recollection of falling asleep, and then thought that it was a miracle that she hadn't drowned. It would have been too easy for her head to slip down under the water... Meg stepped out of the bathtub with a shudder. She reached for a black silk kimono that was sitting on the small vanity table.

She didn't remember seeing the robe when she had come in.

_Odd_, she thought, but then, her state of mind had been rather questionable earlier. She wrapped herself in the robe after drying off, and went back into her room to dress. She took a midnight blue silk dress out of the wardrobe, and after making a few adjustments with a sash and some pins, the dress fit perfectly.

After brushing her hair back so it at least looked presentable, she walked deliberately out into the main room. She knew Erik was there, because she could hear the organ playing, echoing throughout the house.

"Erik!" she said loudly over the music.

The lair immediately fell silent. Erik didn't turn to face Meg, and all she could see of him was the masked side of his face.

It was obvious that he wasn't going to acknowledge her, so Meg went right into it.

"What happened last night?" she demanded. "Why can't I remember?"

Erik shrugged.

"Let us just say that it was... an interesting experience," he said coolly.

"Interesting as in... how?" Meg asked nervously.

Erik sniggered. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Yes I would."

"I doubt that."

"Try me."

"I don't think so." Erik smiled evilly.

"OH, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!" Meg finally shouted, angry. "Will you just bloody tell me?"

"Tsk, tsk, Meg," Erik mocked her. "How unladylike of you."

"I don't care!" she said. "Tell me!"

Erik laughed out loud, cruelly. "I hope you don't think that begging me will do anything for you. I despise whiners, and beggars, Meg."

"I do not _care_!" Meg shouted.

Erik let this little outburst blow over, before saying in a very soft voice. "There is no need to shout, Marguerite. I am not hard of hearing. Now you may shout and you may whine, but you'll not get the truth from me."

"Fine," she said, standing up rigidly. She turned to leave.

"Oh, and Meg," said Erik, voice lined with sweet sarcasm. "In the future, I would suggest not falling asleep in the bath. Drowning is such a terrible way to die..."

Meg whirled around, staring at him open-mouthed. "How did you- what- were you _spying _on me!" she demanded savagely.

Erik didn't respond, but the sardonic smile on his lips betrayed his answer.

Meg flushed deeply with shame and anger. "Why you... son of a-"

"Oh, please," said Erik sarcastically. "Spare me your vulgarity. I have been called such names enough times to have developed quite substantial resilience to their power. And until you know the facts, I suggest you not make any foolish assumptions. Now, go to your room. I can no longer tolerate the sight of you. Go. Leave me."

Meg turned to leave, pausing at the door. "Is this how it's to be forever, Erik?" she asked. "Are we to be two people at war until the day we die down here? Are we never to escape?"

Erik flexed his fingers on the organ keys.

Meg went on. "What about the promise you made me, Erik? You promised me that we would escape. Does that mean nothing to you?"

Erik swiveled in his chair to look at her. He thought long and hard about his answer. A large part of him wanted to give in to her, and tell her that yes, he would set her free, but his pride prevented him from doing it.

"No," he said. "Not anymore."

Meg's face fell, and Erik saw a solitary tear fall down her cheek. Her shoulders fell in despair. "Maybe you are not a man after all," she said defeatedly. "A man keeps his promises. A monster does not."

And then she was gone, before he had the chance to reply.

* * *

A/N: oh, what a burn! well... i warned you no happiness in this chapter. now you all need to review and cheer me up, cause if i stay in this pissy mood, meg and erik might never get together, cause i just can't write romantic fluff when i'm POed like this! so reivew and make my day! 


	18. Make Believe

Chapter 17- Make-Believe

A/N: i'll say it again: Oh the drama! it doesn't look like these two are ever gonna get together, does it? Well, life is indeed a long and winding road... But hopefully we'll see some action soon...

also, jokarynn: hey- hope you have time to read this!

* * *

_Crash..._

Meg sat up suddenly. She had been lying on her bed, reading, when she suddenly heard a god-awful crashing noise. She put the book aside, and walked down the hall. To her absolute surprise, there was Erik, working furiously on the rocks. He stopped for a moment to wipe the sweat from his forehead. Meg ducked back into the shadows, so that he wouldn't see her. Going back to her room, she smiled. Maybe Erik really didn't have the power over her. From the way things were looking, it was the other way around.

The pounding and crashing did not stop for hours. Meg marveled at how long Erik had worked without stopping.

Meg had no perception of how much time had gone by- but Erik did. He knew that he had been working for more than ten hours straight. He also knew that it was having a negative affect on his mind and body. He couldn't think straight, and every muscle in him ached. His arms felt like lead beams as he tried to lift them, but somehow, he always found the strength to keep going. He was sweating profusely, but found himself shivering with fatigue.

_You'll kill yourself_, his intuition cautioned him.

'Don't care,' he thought back in his muddled state of mind. He knew he had to keep working. Erik's only goal was getting Meg out, so she could get as far away from him as possible. He didn't know why he was doing it- her words had had a harder effect on him that he had thought they would. They had cut him deeply; the realization that she, too, only thought of him as a heartless monster. He would get her out, and then spend the remainder of his life totally and completely alone...

* * *

As the hours slid by, Meg began to worry about Erik. She knew that he hadn't stopped working the entire time. She went out to the main chamber, just in time to see Erik step out of the way as a large boulder crashed down, tumbling into the water. He saw Meg, and scrambled down the from the rock formation, looking excited.

"Look Meg!" he said in an eccentric voice that she had never heard him use before. "See the rocks? We'll be out soon- very very soon! Then you can be free! You can leave here and be free!"

Meg raised her eyebrows. Erik wasn't behaving normally. His eyes were strangely unfocused, and he looked dazed. She saw him shivering, and reached out to touch his hand. His skin was burning up.

"Erik-" she began, "are you all right?"

"Just a little longer, and we'll be out, Meg!" he said excitedly, acting as though he hadn't heard her. He turned back to climb up again. He was about the foot off the ground when he stopped, swayed... and collapsed. His body arched as he fell backwards into the shallow water.

Meg gasped and hurried over to him, moving as fast as she could through the water. She pulled him out and dragged him to the shore. This proved to be no easy task, as she was very small, and he very muscular. By some miracle, she got Erik out of the water, and, pressing a hand to the half-side of his forehead, she knew at once he was feverish. She knew she had to get him to bed- this cave was too cold, and he was already shivering. If he stayed out any longer, he would die for sure.

She thought for a moment of taking Erik to his room, but dashed the possibility immediately. No way was she going to put him in a coffin- it was too ominous of what could potentially happen. That option aside, Meg decided to move Erik to her own room. It was closest to where they were, and would be easiest to move Erik there rather than go exploring for other rooms down the hall. As she tried to get him to his feet, he seemed to regain a sort of semi-consciousness; enough for him to be able to walk, putting most of his weight on Meg for support. They stumbled into Meg's room, and she helped him into bed, pulling the covers over him. Suddenly, Erik's hand reached out and caught her by the wrist. His grip was cold and clammy, and Meg flinched at the sudden touch.

"_Christine_?" he breathed. "Is that you, Christine?"

His voice was mournful, and his eyes looked pitiful and pleading, like those of a small puppy. But his expression was blank- his pitiful gaze was clouded by fever. Meg knew he was hallucinating.

"No, Erik," she said. "Christine is gone."

With a small cry, he let go of her wrist, letting his hand drop limply onto the bed. His eyes closed as he passed off into sleep.

_What do I do now?_ Meg thought desperately. She found herself unable to look away from Erik's face. His lips were parted as he breathed unsteadily, broken by the tremors of his shivering. A thought suddenly crossed Meg's mind. She could take the mask off, right now. She couldn't deny that she had been dying to see what Erik really looked like, and now was the perfect chance to find out. Her hand reached out, about to remove the white covering, about to cross the threshold of Erik's secrets, when she hesitated. She thought about how furious he would be if he found out. He obviously kept himself hidden for a reason... maybe it was better left that way. Her hand pulled itself back. She wanted to know- badly- but she didn't want to betray Erik in the process. She would ask him to show her, when he woke up, after he got better. Her words had some power over him; she had seen that in the last few days. Maybe she could convince him to lower his mental barriers and show her who he really was. So instead of removing the mask, Meg went about lighting a fire. There was an empty grate in her room that looked as though it had never been used before. She looked around the cave for things to burn. There was no wood, so she tore up old newspapers, clothes, and empty wooden crates to burn. She found a pack of matches, after rooting through Erik's drawer. The fire lit nicely, and the whole room began to grow warm. It wasn't long before beads of sweat began to form on Erik's forehead. Meg made sure that the blankets were wrapped around him snugly. It was the only way she could think of to get rid of the fever. She remembered how, as a child, her mother would wrap her up in a wool blanket and lay her on a cot, right next to the fire to sweat the fever out of her. Meg remembered how uncomfortable it had been, and there was a sort of sadistic satisfaction in knowing that Erik would suffer to some extent. She felt guilty for having these thoughts, though. The poor man had been working to get her out after all...

So Meg stayed by his side all night.

He must have been dreaming; there were times when he would thrash around or cry out in his sleep. She felt his forehead again- his temperature seemed to be coming down, and he was shivering less, but Meg knew it would be hours before he regained consciousness.

* * *

Much later- when Meg had almost dozed off- Erik cried out again, loudly. Meg's eyelids fluttered open.

Erik's eyes were open, but they were still clouded. His breathing was hurried and irregular, as though drawing oxygen proved a difficulty for him.

"Erik?" Meg asked loudly. "Can you hear me?"

"_Christine_," he whispered. "Christine- where are you?"

Meg squeezed her eyes closed for a moment. Even in his delirium, Erik spoke Christine's name with such love, such passion.

"Christine..." he choked out. "Don't leave me- please don't leave me! Come back to me!"

Meg took Erik's hand. "It's all right, Erik," she said. "I'm here."

"Christine?" he said again, hope in his voice.

Meg's eyes filled with tears. He didn't recognize her... he wanted Christine. Meg knew that what she was about to do was wrong. She knew that she would be deceiving Erik's mind and heart. But he needed to believe- if only for a moment...

_Heaven forgive me for this_, Meg thought.

She knelt next to Erik's bed. "Yes, Erik. I'm right here."

"Christine?" he whispered. "Oh Christine- I'm so sorry... so sorry."

"It's all right, Erik," Meg said. "Rest now."

"I never wanted you to leave... I never meant for things to happen that way... I- I love you Christine..."

"And I love you, Erik," Meg said. When she stopped to think about her words, her heart jolted. This was only an act, she assured herself, it was make-believe. These weren't her feelings... it would be what Christine would say. Erik looked as though he were about to speak again, changed his mind, and fell back to sleep. As his eyes closed, Meg pitied him. It was easy to pity Erik, especially now, with him so sick.

_Maybe this is my fault_, Meg thought suddenly. _If I hadn't have said what I did... he wouldn't have overworked himself to the point of almost killing himself. _

"I'm sorry, Erik," Meg said softly. "I'm sorry for driving you to do this." She reached out and stroked the visible side of his face, then settled back in her chair, ready to stay there until Erik woke up.

* * *

A/N: so what do you think?REVIEW! 


	19. Comtemplated Actions

Chapter 18- Contemplated Actions

A/N: now we'll see exactly how Erik feels about Meg... this could be interesting...

* * *

Erik groaned, trying to roll over, but found that his arms were constricted by something. He didn't want to open his eyes- there was a loud humming in his ears and he felt like his whole body had been run over by a runaway carriage. When he finally did, he realized that he was lying in bed, entangled in the black sheets. He wriggled his arms free, and rolled over, just in time to see Meg glance down at him.

She looked like she didn't know what to say. She opened her mouth to speak, changed her mind, then opened it again to say, "How are you feeling?"

The question came out more feebly than she had intended.

Erik shrugged indifferently. He felt angry- angry at Meg, angry at himself. And angry at his cursed memory. It had put him through such a realistic dream... it had been cruel.

Christine had been right there- he had touched her; he had held her hand. She had touched his cheek... he could remember, feeling it.

Meg sighed, and stood up. "I'll go get you something to eat," she said wearily.

"Don't bother," said Erik flatly. "Save the last of the food for yourself."

Meg nodded, but she left nonetheless.

Erik sank back onto the pillows.

Had Christine really been there?

No- that was foolish. Christine was miles away somewhere- she probably assumed he was dead.

But his intuition told him that someone had been there.

And it didn't take a genius to know who that someone had been.

There were few things in life, which truly puzzled Erik. His mind was more advanced than an average man's- he considered himself intelligent; there were some who called him a genius.

But Meg was someone he hadn't come close to figuring out.

Did she hate him, or did she tolerate him? Did she mind staying down here, or was escape her greatest desire? There were too many questions around Meg- questions that Erik knew he couldn't answer.

But perhaps the thing that bothered Erik the most about Meg was that she made him question himself.

Did he hate her, or did he want her to stay?

_I have no idea_, Erik thought hopelessly. He stared off into the fire, as if hoping to find some truth amidst the flames. The flames were gold- like Meg's hair, he thought. They burned- just like Meg's words did sometimes. They were beautiful... but he knew that they couldn't be touched.

Meg was like a flame.

She burned with her own inner fire, fueled by passion. She was a beautiful wisp of gold, dancing before his eyes. And she was forbidden. Fire burned those who dared to touch it, and Erik knew the consequences of playing with the flames. He had skirted the edge of the fire pit with Christine, and had nearly met his demise.

But Erik was willing to take the risk... after all, what did he have to lose?

Only his heart.

Again.

His eyes moved around the room restlessly. Images of his delirious dreams were swirling and merging together in his mind, before settling on one moment.

"_...I love you Christine."_

"_And I love you, Erik."_

The words had been there- he remembered them.

But it hadn't been Christine saying them.

_Meg_, he thought. But were they true? Was she just playing a role? Was such a thing even possible? Oh, the mad irony! He thought. This was torture of the worst kind- torture of the heart, torture of the soul.

He sighed. He had done things all wrong, from the very beginning. Had he learned nothing from Christine? If he would have done things differently, he might not be lying here like a helpless invalid. If things had been done differently, he and Meg just might have...

Have what?

What did he want?

Friendship? Love?

Love.

Love burned. Love was like a fire too- dangerous and all consuming. Like Hell- love was blazing and hot, but Heaven at the same time. Erik pondered this. If all good and all evil could be wrapped simultaneously into one grand emotion... it broke all bounds, all laws, all truths. And if that was possible, perhaps it was also possible for an angel to love a monster. It was suddenly presented to Erik in a startling clarity.

Love was fire... fire was Meg...

_And Meg was love. _

Voices started up in his head again, but this time, they were voices of reason- his conscience.

_Nothing good will come of this, Erik, you know that..._

'I don't care.'

_You must think... you must be reasonable. You may want Meg, but she doesn't want you..._

Erik hesitated. There was a high likelihood of this being true.

Closing his eyes, he thought of a few nights ago, when he had gotten Meg drunk. He remembered her lying there, sleeping on top of him. If only she would have stayed awake...

Maybe he should get her drunk again, he thought with a wicked smile.

That would certainly be sweet revenge...

But he didn't want to frighten Meg, even though he knew he had probably already done so.

If he had another chance, he thought, he would tell her...

Or show her.

'"_And I love you, Erik..."'_

He wanted to hear those words from her, so badly that it hurt him.

When Meg came back into the room, she found Erik asleep again, unknowing that it was her that Erik was dreaming about.

* * *

A/N: that came off a little fluffier than I had wanted... hmmm... maybe it is time for these two to make out or something. what think my readers? 


	20. Maybe

Chapter 19- Maybe

A/N: geez. sorry guys- but this is another short chapter. i had planned on making it longer,but then decided to make that chapter 20! so i'm sorry if this is too short... i really feel terrible ( but i will promise you this... MAJOR FLUFF IN THE NEXT CHAPTER! i won't say what... but there will be something...!

* * *

Erik slept for several more hours- maybe even days- Meg had no way of telling for sure. She checked his temperature regularly, and was relieved to find that it was coming back to normal. She figured that his sudden change in body temperature had come from him working too hard, which had caused him to be fatigued and pass out. Knowing Erik, though, he would be back to normal in another day or so.

Meg was out in the main room, resting in the large, velvet chair when she heard Erik coming down the hall.

"You're up," she remarked when he entered.

"Yes," he said. "You probably want your bedroom back..."

She shrugged. "I'm fine- really."

They exchanged glances.

Then Meg said, "Erik-" as he said, "Meg-".

Both stopped, as if to let the other continue.

"Go on," said Meg.

"No- you first," Erik argued.

Meg sighed. "I... I just wanted to tell you..." Erik's heart rose for a moment, hoping, praying, wishing, that she might say...

"I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry. For everything I said, and for driving you to work yourself sick."

His excitement died away slightly. He was a fool to believe that she might have told him anything.

"What were you going to say?" she asked, a hint of tiredness in her voice.

Erik cleared his throat. "Um- nothing," he said, knowing how stupid he probably sounded.

There was another awkward silence.

Meg looked about to leave, when Erik stopped her. "When I was sick... did I say... anything?" he asked.

Meg raised an eyebrow, and found herself unsure of what to answer. Did he remember hearing what she had said to him, she wondered. Best to stay safe. She shook her head. "No."

He looked disappointed. "Oh. I see."

"Why?"

"Nothing- I- I must have been dreaming," he fumbled.

A silence again.

Then Meg spoke up. "You were right- we're running out of food. There's probably enough to get us through another day, but after that... we're doomed." She said this in a hollow, defeated voice.

"We may still get out," said Erik.

Meg's voice hardened. "How? I can't move the rocks myself, and you... you're too weak right now. We'll starve to death before you can get better. Either way, Erik, we're not going to get out of here."

Suddenly, Erik knew the answer to their problem. It was so simple, so easy, he was angry he hadn't thought of it before. Maybe it had been the emotions over losing Christine so quickly... whatever it had been, it had obviously affected his thinking. The answer had been there all the time- he just hadn't seen it.

"There is a way."

Meg's intense blue eyes met his. "How?" she asked icily.

"The gunpowder. There's a stash of gunpowder in the back room. I don't know why I didn't think of it before. We can stack the barrels up against the rocks and blow our way out."

The defeated look left Meg's face, and she smiled. "When can we do it?"

"Maybe tomorrow. I don't know if I'll be strong enough to lift the barrels to carry them out..."

"Yes, yes- you should rest," said Meg. "You shouldn't even be up now."

They walked back to the bedroom, and Erik lay down.

Meg made sure he was settled, then turned to leave.

Before she left, Erik said, "Maybe you were wrong about me, Meg."

She turned back. "What?"

"Maybe after this you'll see... I don't want to be a monster to you. I'll keep my promise- I will. Maybe then you'll think of me differently."

"Maybe, Erik," said Meg. "Maybe."

* * *

A/N: i realize that Erik seems to be getting over this fever pretty quickly... but just go with me there for a bit, k? if it bothers anybody to the point of insanity, let me know. but if not, then life is good!

also: something Sparrow's Pearl brought to my attention: Yes, Erik still feels something for Christine, but along with that is the desire to be loved and needed. he's starting to realize that he has feelings- to some extent- for Meg. Keep in mind though, he isn't sure if he loves her- or if he even can love. but before i give away a good part of my story, i feel i must shut up. all will be revealed in time, my darling readers!


	21. Pretend

Chapter 20- Pretend

A/N: okay... this chapter is one that i think a lot of you were waiting for... and i really need feedback on it. this is how i had planned to take this story anyway... so i'd really like to know what you think, since my readers seem to be divided over what should happen between erik and meg. WARNING: FLUFF AHEAD! if you are a fluff-fan, then read, my fluffy friends, and write me fluffy little reviews filled with fluff about how much you like my fluff! If you do not like fluff... umm... get out your popcorn and prepare to laugh! cause i've heard that the alternate reaction to fluff (in replacement of "Awwwww") is laughing. (p.s.- Rue Marie- you are going to hate this! but i promise, more drama is on the way. this story isn't ready to get OVERLY lovey-dovey yet. and i'm not sure if it ever will :) Well, without further ado, Chapter 20. I love you all!

so...

Read, Review, and Enjoy!

* * *

Erik woke up, with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. _This was the day,_ he thought. They would be out today. Meg would have her freedom; she would be able to return back to her mother.

He got out of bed, still feeling a little weak from the fever, but otherwise fine. Going back to his own bedroom, he changed into a clean shirt. When he came out into the main room, Meg was nowhere to be seen. He sat down at the organ, playing as he always did to pass the time. Meg didn't emerge until later, yawning and saying that she'd slept in one of the spare bedrooms. Erik had no idea why he had built spare bedrooms in his house- out of boredom, he supposed- as he had no use for them, but it seemed as though they had finally come in handy.

Erik expected Meg to demand that he begin working to attain their freedom, but to his surprise, she didn't mention it. Instead, she stood beside the organ, watching as he played. Erik began to play an old Gypsy song, singing softly in the strange, exotic Romany language. The flowing music caressed Meg- she couldn't understand the words, but knew their beauty. The song ended, and Erik stopped playing.

Meg sighed. "I wish I could sing," she said, thinking out loud.

"You have sung before," Erik commented. "I've seen you. Or, heard you, rather."

"But my voice is so weak..." said Meg. "I could never sing like Christine could, or even Carlotta. She at least was a soprano."

Erik grimaced at the memory of the toad Carlotta. "You are infinitely better than Carlotta, Meg," he said with a shudder.

Meg smiled. "Remember the night she croaked on stage?" she asked mischievously.

Erik nodded. "She got what she deserved," he said, pausing before continuing. "You have all you need to sing inside of you, Meg. Just abandon your fear of letting people hear your voice." He ruffled through a stack of music. "I trust you know this piece," he said, handing her a sheet of music from _Il Muto_.

Meg nodded. "But-"

"Then sing, for me." He began to play the introduction.

With hesitation, Meg began to sing softly.

"Louder," Erik commanded, still playing. "Project your voice. Whispering the words takes away from your sound."

Meg tried, but the notes seemed to die in her throat. She had trouble reaching the higher ones, and she knew she didn't sound like an opera singer at all.

The organ stopped.

Meg flushed with embarrassment. "I'm sorry. I know I'm hopeless."

Erik stood up, and met Meg's eyes. "You have a fine voice, Meg. But it is weak, like you said. I suppose they don't take the time they should with their chorus girls... But you are capable of the soprano notes in this song. You simply need to know how to push your voice, when, and how far. I can teach you that. Trust me."

He moved so that he was standing behind Meg. His arm snaked around her waist, coming to rest on her abdomen. "Breathe from here," he said. "None of this wispy, singing from the throat. It stifles your sound and limits your pitch."

Meg's breath caught in her throat, and she found it hard to swallow when Erik said, "Sing your scales. Go as high as you possibly can." His hand didn't move from where it rested on her diaphragm.

Meg began, but he stopped her again. "Breathe, Meg," he said.

Yes, Meg thought, just breathe and keep your composure. Being this close to Erik, she suddenly felt disconcerted- a deep, stirring feeling that resonated deep within her. She began to sing again- trying to ignore Erik's hand resting on her stomach.

She started at the lowest note on her register, steadily going higher, increasing one octave each time. As her voice climbed higher, Erik's hand put more pressure on her, and to her surprise, the notes began to come out- unsure at first, but gaining more and more certainty. Finally, Meg found herself reaching a note that she had never thought herself capable of. It was then that Erik removed his hand, and she stopped.

"Well done," he said. He sat back down at the organ. "Let us try the song again."

When Meg sang again, her voice sounded stronger than it had been before. Erik knew that she was nowhere near as good as Christine had been- but then, he knew there was no one else that was. Maybe he could persuade Meg to come back... maybe he could offer to teach her, after they were free.

When the song ended, he swiveled around to look at Meg, as if trying to read her expression for answers.

"Meg?" he asked suddenly.

"Yes?"

"Why haven't you asked me about..."

"About getting out?" she finished.

He nodded. "I would have thought you'd be anxious to leave."

Meg flushed, and prayed that Erik wouldn't notice. Truthfully, she hadn't been in a hurry to escape. It seemed that now that they had a solution, she didn't feel the need for release- and she actually felt herself wanting to stay. But Meg knew she couldn't say that out loud. Erik might take it the wrong way... things could end up badly, like they had with Christine.

Meg cleared her throat. "Yes, well..." she began. "I suppose we should start..."

Erik nodded, and stood up, though his heart was sinking fast inside his chest. He had thought for a moment that maybe Meg didn't want to leave, but knew that was a fool's hope. She followed him back down the passages of the labyrinth until they reached a storeroom containing several barrels.

"We'll probably need at least five of these," said Erik, stooping down to lift one onto his shoulders. "To get a large enough explosion. A lot of this is going to depend on how thick the rocks are to the other side. If they're thicker than I thought, this may not work."

Meg bit her lip. So there was still a chance, she thought. There was still a chance that they wouldn't be freed.

Erik began moving the barrels out of the room and into the water, setting each one at the base of the rock pile. In the back of his mind, he began to think that this might not have been a good idea. He wasn't sure how he was going to light this- there wasn't enough room to leave a trail of gunpowder, and the only other way to light it would be for him to drop the match himself.

_You'll be killed_, His mind cautioned him.

He shivered involuntarily.

Once the barrels were place, Erik came back to shore, and collapsed in the large chair.

His mask was askew, and he pushed it back into place, hoping Meg hadn't noticed.

She had.

The mask hadn't been off enough for her to see his disfigurement, but enough to see the shame in his eyes when he adjusted it.

"Erik?" she asked.

"Yes, Meg?"

"Why do you- why do you wear that mask?"

He stiffened. Meg knew immediately that she shouldn't have asked- Erik's eyes flashed with anger, and his fists clench.

"I wear it," he said through gritted teeth, "because I am not like other men."

He stood up. "It's true you know," he said in a slightly strangled voice. "That's why I can never go out into your world."

"Could- could you show me?" she asked timidly.

"You want to see it!" Erik seethed. "You want to see why I hide behind this mask? I hide from this _face_!" He spun around, turning away from Meg, and she saw him rip the mask off with one swift motion. Her heart was pounding in her ears- she had no idea what to expect as she approached Erik. Resting her trembling hand on his arm, she turned him around to face her. Nothing could have prepared Meg for the sight of his face. It was horrid. It was truly horrid- twisted and contorted flesh, red and scarred. She gasped softly, unable to disguise her fear.

"Oh, Erik," she breathed. "What happened to you?"

"Nothing happened to me," he said icily. "I was born this way." His voice took on a deeper note of pain as he said those words.

Meg put a hand to her mouth in surprise. "I'm- I'm so sorry, Erik," she said, but the words just didn't sound right. There were no words to describe the situation, she thought.

"Don't say that," he said coldly. "I neither want nor need your pity. I know you fear me. I know you look upon me with a trembling heart- you mind wondering how; how it is possible that God himself might have made such a stricken creature. I have always known, Meg," his voice intensified, but behind the proud exterior, Meg could hear tears of many years' anguish and sorrow as Erik continued. "Since the moment of my birth, I was a hated creature. I was shunned by all humanity, bound by the chains of the physical infliction, never to be a man- only a monster. My mother... more than anyone loathed me. She gave me the mask- the only present I ever got from her my whole miserable childhood. I never asked her for much. I remember my birthday... I asked her for one thing... one thing that I wanted more than anything else..." He stared into space, a faraway look in his eyes.

Meg was filled with sympathy for Erik, but also with curiosity. Timidly, she asked, "And what- what did you ask for, Erik?"

"Something I knew she would deny me." The faraway look remained in his eyes as he went on. "I asked her for a kiss. Just one... so that I could believe- even though I knew it could never be true- that she loved me. That was all I wanted. That was all I ever wanted. But she refused. She denied me the thing that most humans so often take for granted... She denied me love..." His voice caught in his throat, and he fell silent, avoiding Meg's eyes. Meg's heart went out to him as she struggled against her own tears of injustice_. No wonder he's turned to violence_, she thought. _No wonder he hides behind the mask. His own mother despised him- just because of his face. No one deserves that._

Meg knew what she had to do. Moving over to where Erik stood, she took his hands gently. He still did not look at her.

"Let me, Erik," she said, voice barely above a whisper. "Let me do what your mother could not."

Erik shook his head. "I cannot ask that of you," he said.

"You aren't asking," said Meg. "I'm giving it to you, freely." She took a step forward, closing the space between her.

"It's not my birthday...," he said, trying to do anything- say anything- to keep her away. One kiss, he knew, and he would fall hopelessly once more into the void of feeling.

"Pretend, Erik," whispered Meg. "_Just pretend..."_

Their lips met very softly for the first time- a feather-light touch, as if both were afraid to come in contact with the other. Thoroughly nervous, Erik pulled away quickly, and expected Meg to do the same, but she didn't.

"What's wrong?" Meg asked. "Is it me? I mean, I never-"

Erik shook his head. "No," he said hoarsely. "Was- was that your first kiss, Meg?"

She nodded.

Erik's heart sank. _No_, he thought, _Her first kiss... she'll always remember me..._

"I'm afraid I wasn't very good at it," said Meg. Placing her hands on Erik's shoulders, she joined their lips together again. This time, the kiss was more than a simple touch. It began innocently enough, until Meg felt Erik's tongue part her lips as the kiss deepened. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling them even closer together until she found herself clinging to Erik, and he doing the same. Her whole body was trembling, but didn't let herself pull away. Erik needed this, she thought. He had suffered too many years without love. She reached up to run a hand along his scarred flesh, feeling him shiver as she did so.

The kiss tortured Erik. It was a slow, intoxicating torture that he never wanted to end. He felt like he was falling through thin air, down, down to whatever fate awaited him... them.

He tried to keep hold over his actions, trying to convince himself that it didn't mean anything. Meg's words played over and over in his mind: '_Pretend, Erik. Just pretend_.'

_Yes, pretend_, he thought. _Pretend that it means something. Pretend that she does this out of love for you. Pretend that she isn't terrified of your face..._

In the back of his mind, he heard another voice- the one inside him, the one he feared. _Pretend she's Christine..._

Meg stepped back then, trying to calm her ragged, uneven breathing. Her lips felt full and swollen, and she knew her cheeks were probably on fire.

Erik couldn't hide his disappointment that the kiss was over, but he didn't dare hold Meg any longer.

They stood silently, facing each other with an awkward uncertainty.

Then, taking a deep breath, pushing away all the feelings that were ripping at his heart, Erik said simply, "Let's get you home."

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A/N: WHOO! smoochies! well... that was... interesting to write. don't get excited though... i think that's all the fluff we'll be seeing for now... i kind of like keeping it sparse like that! but we'll see...! So please review, because i love feedback! 


	22. Eruption

Hey guys- its me again, with another juicy chapter all for you! i must tell you, i am absolutely blown away by all the feedback i've been getting on this story! you all are the greatest-hugs- i love hearing from you, so keep the reviews coming! and enjoy this chapter...!

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Chapter 21- Eruption 

"Are you sure about this, Meg?" Erik asked seriously, standing on top of the barrels of gunpowder. "There is a chance that the blast could end up not going as planned. If the ceiling gives, we're as good as dead."

Meg bit her lip. She had thought about that. She had also thought about the fact that the blast could cause even further damage to the Opera House- and what if there were others there, at this moment? The blast could kill them as well. The consequences were many, but she knew that they were running out of food, and if they didn't hurry, they would be lost forever.

She nodded in response. "Do it," she said.

"Very well," said Erik, though Meg noticed he looked a bit pale.

He opened one case of gunpowder. "Go to the end of the hallway," he instructed Meg. "As far back as you can. Get down on the ground, and cover your head. It's likely some rock will fall when the explosion happens."

"What about you?" Meg asked worriedly.

"Don't worry about me," he said sternly. "I'll do what I have to do to get you out."

He sounded confident, but Meg saw his hands shaking.

"Now go," he said. "Don't linger and wait for me. I am giving you one minute to clear out, then I'm lighting this thing. Understand?"

Meg nodded.

"Then go."

That was the final word. Meg ran, going as far back as she could, though her heart was telling her to wait for Erik. She wanted him with her. Besides, she thought with a start, what if something happened and he was killed in the blast?

She put a hand to her lips, tracing their outline, recalling their kiss... That moment had changed all of Meg's feelings for Erik. She hadn't meant it to mean anything, she just wanted to do it for Erik's sake- but it had.

It had meant more than Erik would ever know.

Mentally, Meg was kicking herself for not allowing the kiss to continue. There was now an aching inside of her- a yearning for another chance. Meg turned back. This was too risky- Erik could be killed. She wouldn't let him do this...

"Erik!" she yelled down the passageway. Her heart began to pound. "Erik!"

The whole cave shook suddenly as the gunpowder cache exploded.

"Erik!" Meg cried again, even louder. Small bits of rock were falling...

The next thing she knew, she was on the ground, with Erik on top of her, shielding her from any debris, like he had done during the first rockslide. When the cave grew silent again, Meg shifted so she was facing Erik, who was still covering her. He looked angry- eyes flashing behind the mask.

"I thought I told you to stay back there," he growled.

Meg had trouble finding her voice. "I didn't- I mean- I didn't want anything to happen to you," she stuttered. "I was coming back because I didn't want you to get hurt..."

His face softened, and they held each other's eyes for a moment.

"Well," he said finally, taking notice of the position that they were still in. "You- you're free now, Meg."

"If the blast worked," Meg said pointedly. "If not... we just may be staring death in the face."

"Let's go see, then," he said. He made to roll off of her so that she could get up, but she stopped him.

No words were exchanged, but she held his eyes steadily. Erik felt his breath catch in his throat. Her eyes were piercing, as if she were looking into his very soul, and yet they were soft at the same time.

Erik wanted very badly to kiss her. To feel her lips upon his once more, to feel loved and needed. He started to lower his head very slowly, desire overpowering his fear. He thought he felt Meg rise up to meet him, but at the last possible instant, both hesitated, and Erik pulled away, getting to his feet and pulling Meg up.

Together they walked out into the cave.

Meg gasped when she saw the gaping hole that had been blasted through the rock pile. The blast had clearly worked- she could see the other shore of the lake.

"It worked," she breathed. Tears of relief filled her eyes, and she threw her arms around Erik's neck. "_Thank you_," she whispered in his ear, before stepping back.

"Are you ready?" Erik asked, letting out a deep breath.

Meg nodded.

His heart sank to the floor. "Then... then let's go."

He walked over to the far side of the shore, where a small boat sat, pausing to retrieve his black cloak from where it rested on a small table in the corner.

"Come," he said, holding out his hand to help her into the boat. Meg sat down, and Erik began to row. The journey to the opposite shore was a silent one.

Meg wanted to tell Erik that she wanted to stay, but she didn't know how to say it.

Likewise, Erik wanted to tell Meg that he wanted her to stay, but couldn't find the right words.

They both stepped off the boat reluctantly.

"Well..." Erik began.

"Come with me," said Meg. "Come with me, out into the world. Just for awhile."

"I cannot," said Erik, with a note of remorse in his voice.

"You can," said Meg quietly. "You're just afraid." Her voice was not chastising; it was understanding.

"It is better this way," he said. "It is better for me to stay hidden."

But in spite of that, he began to walk with Meg down the dark passageway. They came to the mirror, and he operated the mechanism, causing the glass to slide, letting them out into the dressing room. The place reeked of smoke. As Erik opened the door to the hall, the smell worsened. From the looks of things, this end of the theatre had been the fortunate one, though. The rooms still looked fine- the only damage came from smoke. As they neared the actual stage, however, Erik could see the full level of destruction.

The walls were stained with dirt, ash and grime, and the air was rancid with the smell of smoke.

_What have I done to my opera house?_ Erik thought in shock. This was his life; his purpose... and his mad desires had nearly burnt it to the ground. He reached out a hand to touch the wall, pausing in the middle of the hallway. Meg stopped with him. She saw his palm rest on the wall, and his shoulders shake with pent up emotion.

"It's terrible, isn't it?" she remarked softly.

She saw him nod, and she sighed. "All of this could have happened differently, Erik," she said.

He turned, eyes angry. "What do you know about it?" he asked angrily. "You know nothing about what happened that night... about what happened before..."

"Then tell me," Meg said. "Tell me, Erik, don't kill yourself by holding in your pain."

Erik lowered his eyes, not wanting to look at Meg. "I- I loved... Christine," he confessed, tears forming behind his eyes. "I loved her. This all happened because of her." He swallowed, and then spoke again. "I was everything to her... I was her angel... her guardian... her teacher. I did everything to make sure she was successful. And then he came along. The only flaw... to my brilliant plan to make Christine mine. He seduced her, and she drove me to this madness. _Don Juan Triumphant_ was the final evidence that I had slipped from all sanity..."

"You aren't insane, Erik," said Meg. "But what you did was... terrible." She found herself growing angry. "Don't you know anything? Don't you realize that if you wanted Christine that you should have told her? Fear and aggression don't lead to love. If you had done things differently, Christine might have been yours."

Erik felt his temper flaring up again. He had no idea what to say... what to think He had no idea what he thought about Meg at that moment- he loved Christine, with all his heart- he knew that he did, but then what did these other damnable feelings mean? He didn't love Meg, he told himself. How could he?

He didn't.

Christine was his only love- until he died.

He thought he had, but he had been lying to himself.

Yes.

That was it.

He didn't love Meg.

Did he?

His second-guessing made him tremble with rage. "Just go, Meg," he said suddenly.

Meg cocked her head. "What?"

"You have your freedom- now leave. Just- just leave me."

"Why?"

"So I can die in peace!" he shouted. "So I can be alone... so I can stop living!"

"You don't want me to go- do you?" Meg asked.

"Yes- Meg- I want you to go!" he said, trying to assure himself that his own words were true.

"Fine," Meg retorted. "I'll go. And don't expect me to return. Goodbye, Erik."

She turned on her heel and walked to the front doors, yanking them open.

Meg blinked as she stepped out of the Opera House and back into reality. The sun was out, though clouds were threatening on the horizon. Meg held up a hand to shield her eyes, which had grown unaccustomed to sunlight during her weeks in the cave. Timidly and suddenly afraid of the sight of people milling about, Meg stepped back into the shadows of the opera house. Shadows had become her sanctuary over the past several weeks. She felt overexposed, standing in the light. She felt insecure and self-conscious, now once more under the eyes of the world.  
_"Erik_," she found herself whispering. But she couldn't see him, and she wasn't sure if he was even there.

She took a deep breath. Time to put the Opera House behind her.

Time to put the Opera Ghost behind her.

Taking a deep breath, she turned back to the world- her world- and stepped out into the street, not noticing the carriage that was headed right for her...

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A/N: okay... I will say this... **SOMEONE WILL DIE IN THE NEXT CHAPTER**! As for who it is- I'm not saying. The way I see it, it's kind of obvious. but then, whatever you're thinking probably isn't right either :)

so let me know who you think it will be... and to save you from having to type it- i will say it here: i know, i know- i am an evil person, and you all hate me!

Heard it all before, mates!

so review!


	23. Home

Chapter 22- Home

A/N: THIS IS **NOT** THE END! I AM NOWHERE NEAR READY TO END THIS STORY YET! I HAVE MANY MORE CHAPTERS YET TO POST! SO STAY WITH ME-off caps- okay- everybody get the message? this isn't the end- i'll tell you when the story ends, which probably won't be for several more chapters! so with that in mind, read and review!

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By the time Meg heard the galloping of the horses' hooves, it was too late. Frozen in fear and shock, she found herself unable to move. She squeezed her eyes shut, ready to die. There was a split second when her whole life seemed to flash before her eyes- or at least, the last month or so of her life. She saw Erik in her mind's eye... unmasked, standing before her. She sent out one final plea to him.

_Save me..._

She felt something slam into her, and screamed.

She had the sudden sensation of being thrown through the air, landing several feet away from where she had stood. Her head hurt madly- there was a loud rushing in her ears.

_I'm dead_, Meg thought_. I've died. I was so close to being home, and now I'll never make it. _

It was odd, though, she thought. Death wasn't as bad as she thought it would be. She heard voices around her... saw dark silhouettes all around her. Were these angels, she wondered?

Someone took hold of her wrist.

Someone spoke her name in a deep, tremulous voice.

Someone told her to hold on.

Meg blinked her eyes open. If this was heaven, she thought, it looked an awful lot like the Parisian street that she had just left.

As the face over her came into view, she realized with a start that she was not dead.

"_Erik..._"

His face was shielded by the hood of his black cloak.

"Foolish of you, Meg," he hissed. "I go to lengths to see that you are free, and the first thing you do is nearly get yourself killed." There was no compassion in his voice. "Get up."

Meg obeyed, taking the hand he offered her. He yanked her to her feet, steadying her as she swayed from the sudden movement. A small crowd had formed around them, and when they saw Meg get up, they cheered.

A few of them offered to fetch a cab to take Meg to a doctor, but Erik shrugged them off, saying gruffly that Meg would be fine. He steered her firmly away from the scene, one arm around her waist, the other on her arm to keep her steady. When they were far enough away, Erik took her into a deserted alley. She backed into a wall, still disoriented. Erik grabbed her by the shoulders, causing her to look at him.

"Can you hear me, Meg?" he asked.

She nodded groggily.

"Can you walk?"

She nodded again.

"What happened?" she asked.

"You stepped out in front of a carriage, and almost got yourself run over. I... I pushed you out of the way."

"You saved- you saved my life?"  
"Why does that come as such a shock to you?" he questioned mildly, drawing his hood even closer around his face.

"Well- it's just that five minutes ago, you were screaming at me to get out of your Opera House, and then you're flinging yourself in front of a racing carriage to save my life. What am I supposed to think, Erik?" she asked, slightly dazed. "You're a hard man to figure out, you know. I still can't figure out what you think of me. Sometimes it seems like you hate me... and other times it seems like... like..."

"Like what?"

"Like you're actually being human for a change!" Meg snapped. "But now, needless to say, is not one of those times!"

"How kind of you to say that," said Erik coldly. "When I've just saved your life. Maybe in the future I should not be so quick to come to your rescue..."

"Fine!" said Meg. "I've lived nearly twenty years of my life without you, Erik. There's no reason why I can't continue that."

"Fine!" Erik retorted. "If that's what you want. I'll go back to my Opera House, and leave you to your peaceful, storybook life!"

They both turned on each other, walking in separate directions.

Erik hadn't reached the end of the alley before Meg turned around.

"Erik- wait," she said. "Stop. I didn't mean it."

He stopped walking, but didn't turn around.

"Erik-" Meg began weakly, feeling as though she would collapse any second. "Please... I'm just... I..."

He turned.

"You're very clever with words, Marguerite."

Meg threw up her hands in frustration. "I don't know," she began, "what to think. Everything... just seems so confusing now..."

She didn't meet his eyes, and he knew that she was thinking about the kiss. He realized that he himself had not had much time to dwell on it either, and now that he did, everything started to sink in.

When Meg raised her eyes, to meet Erik's piercing gaze, a moment of truce passed between them; a moment of understanding.

A realization suddenly dawned on Meg. She had no idea where to go- where to look for her mother. She didn't know where Madame Giry was living now- the two of them had lived in the Opera House dormitories for most of Meg's life- they hadn't had a house in the city.

"I don't know what to do, Erik," Meg said wearily. "I don't know where to look... I have to find my mother, but I don't know where to start..."

She swayed suddenly, and Erik reached out to steady her.

"Are you sure you want to do this today?" he asked. "You are very weak... it may not be wise-"

"I have to find my mother," said Meg, cutting him off.

"Very well, then. I will help you."

Meg's face relaxed. "Thank you," she whispered.

Erik nodded in response. "Let's go." He took her by the arm again and they began to walk. "Seeing as we don't know where your mother is living now," Erik began, I would suggest we start out at... at the deChagny house." He said the last words as though they were poison. "Christine would know," he finished.

"How can you be sure Christine is there?" Meg asked.

Erik laughed harshly. "Don't be naive. You know she and Raoul planned to marry."

"Of course," said Meg. She noticed how Erik's grip on her arm had involuntarily grown tighter.

As they walked down the sidewalk, the clouds overhead thickened, hinting of rain soon to come. Meg saw people cast wary glances at Erik, and found herself staring angrily at whoever did so. Out in her world of cruelty, Meg felt somewhat protective of Erik. She knew that he had suffered so far in his own life, and she felt responsible for being part of the human race that had scarred his soul so badly.

Presently they came to a large, white manor house in the high-class part of town. Erik slowed, stance wary. He had no way of knowing what kind of welcome they would receive, standing on the deChagny's doorway. If it was Raoul that came to the door... Erik wasn't sure if he would be able to contain himself.

Luckily, though, when Meg rang the bell, it was answered by none other than Christine herself.

She took one look at the couple on her doorstep and gasped, putting a hand to her mouth in shock. "_Mon dieu_!" she breathed. "Meg- Erik..." Her eyes grew even wider. "I- we thought you had died!"

Meg shook her head gravely. "We were trapped..." she began. "It is a long story, Christine."

Christine stepped aside. "Please, come in," she said, rather nervously.

Erik, Meg noted, had said nothing thus far, and his air as he stepped into the deChagny house was icy. He didn't look at Christine, despite her attempts to meet his eyes.

Christine showed them into the parlor, and they sat down.

"Is Raoul home?" Meg asked, mostly for Erik's sake.

Christine shook her head. "He left for the day with some friends of his. He's not to be back till nightfall."

"And you two... have you... are you...?"

"We married, yes. In a small ceremony, shortly after the incident." Christine sighed. "You have no idea how glad I am to see you alive, Meg," she went on. "After the incident, we couldn't find you anywhere... where were you?"

"I was with the mob that came down to the dungeon," Meg said. "We were leaving when some rocks fell... I was trapped in the dungeons of the Opera House, and Erik was trapped with me."

Christine looked on the two with astonishment. No small miracle that they had both made it out alive.

"How long... how long has it been?" Meg asked.

"Almost two months," said Christine gravely. "Since that night."

Meg's jaw dropped. Two months? Two months, cut off from the world. She suddenly felt faint again. But she cleared her head, remembering why it was that they had come.

"My mother-" she questioned. "Where is she?"

Christine bit her lower lip.

"What?" Meg asked, worriedly. "What happened? Is she all right?"

"Oh, Meg," said Christine, voice a whisper. Tears welled up in her eyes. "I'm so sorry to have to tell you... your mother... she died... nearly three weeks after you vanished. The doctors said it was a heart condition- she died peacefully in her sleep... Meg I'm so sorry..."

Meg's blue eyes flooded with sudden tears. Her mother- her only family, her only security- was gone. She felt Erik put a protective hand on her arm.

Christine also noticed the gesture. She tried once more to look at him, but he refused.

Meg's hands were shaking.

They were too late... they had been too late...

Meg was an orphan now...

The stark reality hit her with such a shock that she actually stopped breathing for a moment. The air around her suddenly became very stifled... she needed to get out. Her only thought was to run- as hard and fast as she could- away from the world, away from everyone.

She stood up quickly, and fled.

Christine and Erik heard her footsteps out in the foyer.

Erik was on his feet in an instant. "I'm going after her," he said to Christine. "Don't follow us!" he added scathingly.

"Erik, I-"

But he had already left the room.

Careful to keep the hood of his cloak drawn up around his face, Erik followed Meg through the streets. Her years of dancing had made her light and limber- she was a much faster runner than Erik was. He couldn't catch her, but he followed her all the way to the graveyard on the other side of the city. Thunder rolled overhead, as the world seemed to shake with anger and sorrow.

Erik found her on her knees at her mother's grave, sobbing. He stood behind her for a moment, unsure of what to say. Her cries piercing the air were more than he could bear.

"Meg," he said gently, coming down to comfort her. "I'm so sorry..." He reached out a hand, brushing the hair out of her eyes. To his surprise, he felt her flinch and recoil from him.

"Don't!" she said sharply. "Don't try to comfort me, Erik!" Her voice was bitter. She rose to her feet. "This is your fault," she said, teeth clenched. "We could have been out if you hadn't wasted so much time! I could have seen her one last time... I could have said goodbye..."

Erik stood up. "Meg- calm down," he said firmly. "Listen to me, I-"

"Oh stop it!" she cried. "Nothing you say will change anything!"

She made to run again.

Erik grabbed her by her arms, trying to make her look at him. "Meg- listen..."

"No! I won't!" She yanked herself free from his grasp. "I won't listen! I hate you Erik!" she sobbed angrily, pounding her fists against his chest. "I hate you!" Her feeble punches had no effect on Erik, but her words did. He let her hit him- let her hate him and take out her anger on him. She sobbed and cried, falling to her knees before him. He remained standing.

Glancing up at him, Meg knew that she had hurt him. She saw his lost expression and knew that she had plunged in the knife.

And twisted it.

"Stay away from me, Erik," she said, voice barely audible. "Don't follow me... just leave me alone."

Erik backed away from her, eyes full of sadness.

Then he turned, and walked briskly down the cemetery hill, cape billowing out behind him.

Meg watched his back receding onto the horizon, and it made her cry even more. She curled up against her mother's headstone as the rain began to fall around her.

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A/N: tear tear... they've broken up again... oh, sniff. and come on- of COURSE i wouldn't kill erik or meg (yet...!)

Kudos to Rue Marie and a few others... who knew exactly who i was gonna kill off. (Rue Marie: as to your other suggestion about killing off a certain OTHER character... -scratches chin thoughtfully- hmmmmmm... ;)

you didn't think they would get together that easily, did you? nope... its going to be a lo-oo-ng, painful process... so strap yourselves in for the ride on the emotional roller coaster! love to all!


	24. Exile

Chapter 23- Exile

A/N: many many many sorries for not getting this up sooner! i hope you guys are still out there! there's a long, boring list of reasons why i couldn't update... some of which include me making up with an alias and taking a sudden flight to canada... but that's a long, boring story and i'll spare you the gruesome details. the good news is: i've been working on chapters 23-29, so i should have them up in due time, provided that nothing else... comes up. -cough-

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"Meg?"

Christine's voice floated across the graveyard. She hurried over to Madame Giry's headstone, where Meg was still laying, curled up as though the world was falling down around her.

"Meg," said Christine. "Let's go home."

Meg shook her head numbly.

"Come on, Meg," said Christine soothingly. "Everything will be all right. Come home, out of the rain..."

Christine helped her up, and together they walked down the hill, to where a cab was waiting for them.

"I'm so sorry, Meg," she whispered to her best friend.

"I could have been here," Meg said shakily. "I could have seen her one last time... it was Erik's fault... he... we fought all the time... he wanted to keep me down there. It was all part of the childish game we played, Christine... if I had known... if I had known I would never see Maman again... if I could do it all over again..."

"Shhh," Christine soothed. "Don't worry about it now. Don't think about it. You need rest. You've been through so much, Meg."

"It's all Erik's fault," she repeated. "I- I hate him... I wish he were dead..."

Christine shook her head. "Never wish that," she whispered. "This is not Erik's fault... nor is it yours. Don't blame him- he has enough sorrow in his life."

Meg buried her head in her hands as the carriage rolled down the muddy streets. In her heart, Meg did blame Erik. She blamed him for keeping her prisoner, for keeping her from her mother.

But with her tears of hate were also tears of regret, and tears of longing. There was a sad longing in her eyes to be with the phantom- to share her sorrow with him, to let him comfort her. Somehow- in some twisted way- she felt as though he knew her suffering.

She wanted to be able to hate Erik.

But her heart refused to let her.

Maybe it was the fact that his story was the most pitiful tale of misfortune that she had ever heard, maybe it was something deeper- she didn't know for sure.

But whatever it was, she wanted to bury it. She wanted to banish the feelings from her- to purge her mind and soul from her attachment to the dark man who had been her jailer for so long.

Jailer, saviour, enemy... Erik had been all of those things to her.

If only he hadn't saved her- if only he hadn't made her see things... maybe then letting go would be easier…

* * *

Erik stormed back down to his dungeons, cape streaming out behind him, making him look like a black bird of prey. He crossed the lake, blinded by rage and anger. When he reached the shore, he felt the need to hit... to rip... to kill... His hands shot out, overturning to the candlesticks, sending the black mourning candles crashing to the floor. The sheet music on the organ scattered everywhere, fluttering off the surface onto the floor. He was angry- so angry at himself. Not for the first time, he cursed his own life. Why, he wondered, why did everything always have to turn out so badly? He could never see Meg again. She would never want to see him again. He had failed. He hadn't gotten her home in time...

If only he hadn't allowed his temper to punish her...

Amidst his blind rage, Erik hadn't noticed his mask slip off his face until he saw, with a shock, his horrid visage staring back at him in the gold-gilded mirror. That was the final straw. With a strangled cry, Erik flung himself at the mirror, hitting and ripping at the glass, just as he had done when he was a child. Back when there had been a monster there, frightening him.

He realized now, with a subdued horror, that he was the monster.

His life, that could have been promising, had been reduced to this miserable, pathetic creature, confined to shadows and living in despair.

_Will I never be happy?_ He thought to himself. _Will I never be accepted?_

His anguished cries intensified, echoing through the cave. He hated himself. He hated life.

He stopped his fit of rage suddenly and knelt down, fingers bloody, groping for the mask. Finding it, he slid it back on.

Strangely enough in his rage, he was able to think coherently. Life had no meaning for him, he thought. Christine was never coming back. Meg was never coming back. He could spend life now as it had been meant to be spent all along- in silence and alone.

He walked back to his room, and opened his drawer to where his morphine stash was kept. He picked up the case of syringes, and then walked back out to the main room. He remembered Meg's horror at finding out he was an addict. Disgusted with himself, he emptied the box of the needles and threw them all into the lake as hard as he could. He was free of the drugs. He was finished poisoning himself.

He already poisoned himself enough from the inside.

He let out a deep breath, feeling finally as though he was released from the hold that the morphine had had over him for so long.

That done, he retreated back to his coffin, waiting to die...

* * *

A/N: Yay! Drugs all gone! Everybody party! but oh, the angst...! I'm having more fun than i should be tormenting these two, but it will turn out all right in the end! heh- i think...!

And don't worry… erik won't die… that last line is just a figure of speech!

Again, so sorry for not updating... i'll try to get up another chapter today! thanks for sticking with me, and as always, REVIEW!


	25. Lost

Chapter 24- Lost

The next day was a blur for Meg. She stayed at the deChagny's house, where Christine told her everything that had happened between the performance of _Don Juan Triumphant_ and the day that Meg had returned.

Meg seemed to be having trouble taking it all in- she seemed out of tune with reality- something Christine could only think normal after spending two months virtually isolated from everyone and everything.

Raoul helped in settling the financial matters involved. He explained to Meg that her mother's savings were still intact, and that she could use them to rent herself a flat if she wanted.

Christine offered Meg to stay at their home for a time, but Meg refused, preferring to make it on her own. She would stay only long enough to find herself a home.

Meg spent most of her time in the guest room alone, thinking. And more often than not, her thoughts were focused on Erik.

She still had no idea what to think of him.

His moods changed so rapidly- it was easy to love one side of Erik and hate another. There was the side of him that she pitied and even cared for- the gentle side that had comforted her in the lair and had held her close when she needed to feel...

There was the passionate side of him- the part of him that composed the most beautiful songs Meg had ever heard in her life.

There was the sarcastic side, always ready to argue and instigate. The side of him that had the ability to get under Meg's skin and provoke her to the breaking point.

And then there was the side of Erik that Meg feared. His evil side- the one that did drugs and heard voices. The one that had hurt her, both physically and mentally during their time in the labyrinth.

So many personalities in one man, she thought. How was it even possible to decide how she felt?

She cared for him, that was true- but she still feared his evil side, his twisted side. She wanted to love him, but knew that until she could accept all of him, loving him was simply impossible.

Still, his memory haunted her.

The kiss haunted her as well. Lying in bed that night, it was all Meg could think about. There had been something about it- something that had passed between them when their lips had met for the first time, timidly and unsure. It was as though Erik had said something in a foreign language and Meg was able to understand him when no one else could.

It was as though her heart had understood Erik's.

Meg felt tears in her tired eyes. Realizing it now, she felt like an idiot. She had been a blind idiot. Erik had spoken to her in so many ways- through his song, through his actions; through the way he had held her while they had kissed... he had been begging her, pleading with her to understand him.

And she had been a fool not to realize it.

What would life be like now, Meg thought? Now that she had realized too late that Erik needed her. Now that she had realized that she needed him...

His heart had been broken enough already, she thought. With the pain his mother had left him with and the pain of Christine leaving, it was a wonder he was still emotionally alive. She remembered how he had wanted to die before- how he had come so close with the morphine. Maybe the drugs hadn't killed him. But other things could.

_What if I condemned him to his death in that cave?_ Meg thought with a sinking heart. _What if I was the final straw before his heart gives up?_

She tossed and turned for hours over that thought.

Maybe she had driven Erik to madness. It wouldn't be the first time. But how would she find out, she wondered? Should she go to him- back to the Opera House?

No.

He was the reason why she would never see her mother again. He was the reason she had gone down to the cellars of the opera with the mob in the first place.

No, Erik was at fault for all of this, and Meg would never forgive him. She promised herself never to forgive the Phantom of the Opera.

Not now or ever.

* * *

Christine came into Meg's room the next day, quietly as she always was. She smiled at Meg, but the smile was unreturned. Meg was sitting on the window bench, staring out onto the street. Christine came over and sat beside her.

"How are you feeling, Meg?" she asked.

Meg forced a laugh. "Like nothing will ever be the same again," she said with an air of indifference.

Christine sighed. "I know how difficult this must be for you..." she began.

"You don't," said Meg, thinking of Erik and all the pain he had caused her- and was still causing her.

Christine paused for a moment, outlining the pattern of the fabric that covered the window bench. "There's something I've been wanting to ask you, Meg," she said.

Meg was silent.

"It's about Erik," Christine said. "Is he- I mean- is he all right after... after everything that happened?"

_Oh sure_, Meg thought, _if doping himself up on morphine and trying to hold me prisoner down in the depths of hell can be considered "all right", then sure- Erik's fine! _

"He's all right, I suppose," Meg said coolly. "We didn't speak much."

"I worry about him," Christine said aloud. "Every day, I worry that I might have done something to make him fall further into darkness. I don't want to be responsible for him harming himself."

_That makes two of us_, Meg thought to herself. To Christine, she asked, "Do you miss him?"

A faraway look filled Christine's eyes. "Yes," she said softly. "Very much. But- I can never go back. What's done between us is done. I can't change that, much as I sometimes want to. I just wish it could have all been done differently. If only Erik hadn't gone to such extremes... if only he could have seen that I did care for him- but not as a lover or a husband. Erik wanted my love, and he had it- he just couldn't see it. I want to tell him that so badly..." She fell silent.

_Do you know how much you hurt him?_ Meg mentally questioned Christine. _Do you know how badly he wants you, how badly he misses you? No. You don't. Ignorance is bliss, Christine, and you're drowning in it! _Meg shook herself.

"I'm so confused, Christine," she said.

Her friend slipped a comforting arm around her shoulder. "Everything will be all right, Meg. You have to believe that."

If only, Meg thought. If only everything could be all right again.

But there in that room, she knew that "all right" was something nearly impossible to achieve.

* * *

She found a new flat a week later, on the other side of Paris. Christine and Raoul offered to help her find a better one with their money, but Meg refused. She hated charity, and had promised herself long ago not to accept it from anyone. There wasn't much moving to do- she had no furniture and almost no possessions, save for the ones she went out and bought that day; necessities like a bed, and other random objects needed in a house. Christine stayed with her until nightfall, and even then, she was hesitant to leave.

"Are you sure you would not rather come back to our house, Meg?" Christine asked. "It's no trouble, really. Are you sure you want to be alone here?"

Putting on a weary smile, Meg declined. "I'll be fine here, Christine," she said. "I just need to be alone right now..."

Christine had looked unconvinced, but had left nonetheless, leaving Meg in the empty house.

Once the door had shut, Meg's heart had given an unpleasant jolt. She was truly alone now. The candle on the table was burning low, and the room was growing increasingly dark with each passing moment. It wouldn't be long, she knew, before the candle went out, leaving her in darkness. Meg was suddenly very afraid. She had never felt so alone before- her mother had always been there for her. She had been afraid of the dark as a child, too. She remembered all the times she had woken from nightmares, crying out in her sleep, only to open her eyes and see more darkness. She would always imagine that there were people in the room with her- monsters, watching her sleep, waiting...

Meg shuddered, and wrapped her arms around her thin shoulders. Taking the candle, she walked down the small hallway to the flat's one bedroom. The bed she had purchased was the only piece of furniture in the room, apart from the suitcase that held the clothes that she owned- most of which were things that Christine had outgrown. Setting the candle on the floor, Meg got into bed without changing into her nightgown. She kicked off her boots and curled up beneath the wool blanked, bending down to blow out the candle.

The room became instantly dark.

Meg drew the blanket even tighter around herself, as if it could shield her from the night and all its horrors.

She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but when she did, she found that she couldn't escape her dreams.

The dreams that came to her that night were unlike any that she had ever had before. It was as though it were not a dream, but a window looking in on Erik. The picture was so vivid, it felt like she was actually there. It was in the labyrinth... Erik was sitting at the organ, but he was not playing like he normally was. One hand rested on the keys, balled into a fist, while the other covered the right side of his face. The mask was lying on the organ top. His shoulders shook abruptly, and Meg noticed he was crying... In the depths of her soul, Meg felt a terrible aching feeling intensified with each passing second. It hurt so terribly, she felt like she couldn't breathe...

Erik turned his head suddenly, and looked straight at her, removing the hand that shielded his face. For a split second, Meg saw his face... but to her surprise, it was perfect and flawless.

She sat up in bed, eyes opening as she tried to remember what she had just seen.

She felt her own eyes moisten as she recalled the dream.

Meg but back her own tears, pulling the covers up to her chin. _Go away, Erik_, she prayed. _Please just leave me..._

As she felt her cheeks suddenly become flooded by tears that refused to die, Meg wished more than ever that she and Erik had never escaped the dungeons.

* * *

A/N: Told you this would be a massive joy ride on the emotional roller coaster! Will she ever go back? I don't know! ;) Review! 


	26. Absolution

Chapter 25- Absolution

The bells of the cathedral echoed through the square as Meg hurried up the stairs and into the church for Sunday Mass, dressed from head to toe in simple black clothing. In the foyer of the church, she adjusted her black lace veil, so that it was covering her head out of respect.

Entering the chapel, she blessed herself with holy water as a sign of faith. Then, walking up to the side altar, she lit a candle in memory of her mother and prayed for her soul before moving off to sit in one of the side pews.

She knelt in prayer, her back rigidly straight. She focused on the statue of the Virgin Mary_. Holy Mother, let me not be lead astray_, she prayed_. Let this pass from me. Let me forget. Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee..._

That was as far as she got before she found her thoughts wander. She thought of Erik; what was he doing now? Was he thinking of her?

When the organ began to play a solemn hymn, she almost lost control of her emotions as she remembered painfully the organ in the labyrinth. She gripped the wooden rail in front of her to keep herself in check, knuckles turning white as an effect of her talon-like grip.

When the priest began to speak, Meg barely heard what he was saying. Her concentration slipped away faster than she could try to control it. Erik filled her mind, encompassing every empty space, leaving no room for thoughts of religion or the outside world in general. She was under his spell, and was powerless to save herself.

Her surroundings suddenly had no meaning; she remembered his words. _There's no God. We're just multitudes of hopeless souls, running around aimlessly, in this twisted world of our sinful creations. _

When Meg looked back at the large crucifix hanging above the altar, she felt nothing. Before, to look at such a symbol of faith would make her feel repentful and sorry for her sins. But now, as she looked on the face of Christ hanging on the cross, she felt empty and cynical. _You haven't saved us_, she thought at God. _Erik was right. There is no religion._

Blinded to all other people, Meg stood up and walked out of the church, on to the street, taking in a deep breath of fresh, crisp morning air. It was overcast again- there hadn't been a good sunny day since she'd come out of the Opera House. This didn't bother Meg, though. She would rather it be cloudy and dismal- since the darkness mirrored her heart perfectly.

She began to walk, her feet leading her.

Meg was about twenty yards from the Opera House when she stopped. The door were calling to her, they were beckoning to her to venture inside, to reconcile, to confess. A song seemed to resonate off the edifice, whispers of a memory...

_You have come here... in pursuit of your deepest urge... in pursuit of that wish which till now has been silent... silent..._

Meg shivered. Snow began to fall, ushered in on the chill of the winter breeze...

_I have brought you... that our passions may fuse and merge... in your mind you've already succumb to me... dropped all defenses... completely succumbed to me..._

Meg took another step forward. To go back... to slake her longing... The temptation was there before her, begging her to give in.

_Now you are here with me...no second thoughts... You've decided...Decided..._

_Have I?_ Meg wondered. _Has the decision been made?_ She found herself standing still on the sidewalk.

_Past the point of no return... no backward glances... our games of make believe are at an end..._

_What am I running from?_ Meg questioned herself. _Why do I shy away from this place?_ Why does my heart not have the courage to return?

_Past all thought of if or when... no use resisting... abandon thought and let the dream descend..._

Meg hesitated. She couldn't take another step toward the house. Be it lack of courage or lack of something else, she couldn't make herself return.

* * *

A/N: oh, who out there wants to STRANGLE meg for being such an idiot? I know, I know, myself included, lol!

But I did like this chapter for some reason. Can't say why, but I do. I know this was short, so I'm trying to upload another chappie tonight!

So please review, cause I need feedback now!


	27. Penitence

Chapter 26- Penitence

Meanwhile, Erik was down in the depths of the Opera, writing his music, unaware of Meg's presence outside. It seemed as though all his days were spent that way- morning melted into evening and evening into morning again until Erik had lost all track of time. He was working furiously on a song that he had been thinking about for a long time. There were no words, just music. The tones changed from melancholic and cold to tremulous and passionate rapidly, recessing into a soft melody before returning to a violent crescendo.

He set down his pen, flexing his fingers to play what he had just written. The sounds of the organ filled the room, echoing throughout the cave. Erik played until he came to a part that he found flaw with. He ceased playing, crossed out some of what he had written, scribbled some new notes, and then played again. He repeated this for some time, never quite satisfied with the notes he was writing down. Finally, frustrated, he put down his ink pen and throwing his black cloak over his shoulders, got into the boat and began to row. When he reached the other shore, he stepped off the boat and started down the long tunnel. Operating the mechanism that would grant him passage through the mirror, he stepped out into the Opera House once again. The passage let out in a dressing room, which he remembered had been Christine's for a time. He remembered how he had sang to her, and then how he had appeared to her, taking her from her room down into his domain.

'_Angel of Music, guide and guardian, grant to me your glory...'_

The shadowy voice of memory called out to him, but Erik turned away, not wanting to dwell on what had happened. If only he could erase the past... if he could make himself forget... It would all be so much easier if only he could.

He left the dressing room, slinking down the halls toward the main stage. He stepped through the burned out doorframe and entered the theatre.

It was devastating.

The whole theatre had been ravaged by the fire- the seats were scorched, the walls and marble columns were stained with ashy dust, and a few of the boxes had begun to collapse. In the middle of it all sat the chandelier. Glass was scattered all over the floor; it crunched under Erik's boots as he stepped over it, making his way toward the stage. The stage itself was a haunting reminder of Don Juan Triumphant. The sets had somehow remained unharmed, and the stage itself seemed almost unscathed. The crimson curtain behind the set was still there, though covered in dust, and there in the middle of the stage... was the mask.

Erik drew in a sharp breath as he stepped up onto the stage. The black costume mask was sitting there peacefully, where it had landed after Christine had ripped it off of him the night of the performance. He turned to face the empty chairs in the audience. This was all his doing, he thought.

His life, his opera, and he had destroyed it.

He felt as though he had betrayed his only friend in life.

He sank to his knees on the stage, crushing the soft fabric of the mask in his fist.

The damage was done, and he would have to live with the consequences.

* * *

A few evenings later found Meg leaving a small shop near her flat.

"_Bonne nuit_, Meg," said another young girl who walked out with her.

"Good-night, Michelle," Meg replied wearily, shifting the bag she carried to her left shoulder. The other girl smiled, then turned off to walk in the opposite direction.

Meg yawned, and turned toward her home. She had found work in a small but respectable seamstresses' shop, only a few blocks away from where she lived. The pay wasn't much, but she needed to work, and it kept food on her table. For the past week, she had done nothing but sit with a needle for hours on end, repairing old dresses and working on new ones. She was almost always silent; the other girls thought her strange because she didn't talk, except for Michelle, who seemed to accept Meg's silence as being perfectly normal.

None of them knew what Meg was thinking of during the day- or, more strictly speaking, _who _Meg was thinking of.

Erik was all she thought about now- she was unable to think of anyone or anything else. Her days were the same narrow pattern- she would wake, go to work and come home.

And then there were the nights.

Meg grew to both love and fear the night.

When she would climb into bed, there was a certain excitement, knowing that in dreams, she would see Erik's face again. But she also feared the emotions that the dreams caused her to feel- forced her to feel. Passion, desire, longing... emotions Meg was afraid of, especially where Erik was concerned. Everything about it was strange and new to her; the whole concept of wanting something... someone... and she had no idea whether to banish these feelings or act upon them.

She sat up later with a strangled cry, having been shaken from a nightmare. She looked wildly around, but saw only blackness.

Another nightmare.

This was getting out of hand, she thought. Erik's memory tortured her soul enough during the day... and now he had to haunt her dreams by night. Would she never be free of him?

_I can't do this anymore_, She thought desperately. . .

* * *

Meg wasn't the only one plagued with haunting dreams. In his lair, the phantom was also having his own painful visions, asleep in his coffin. He dreamed of Meg, standing next to the grave, right where he had left her, blonde hair drenched by the rain. There were tears streaming down her face as she stretched out her hands to him. _"Erik!"_ she cried, her tears coming down even harder.

He tried to reach out to her, but couldn't. "Meg-" he whispered in his sleep.

"_Erik!"_

"Meg-"

"Erik!"

Something was wrong, Erik thought. He could feel himself waking up, but Meg's voice wasn't vanishing into the dream. It was still there, calling to him clearly as though she were really there. He sat bolt upright.

As if she were really there.

"Erik!" He heard her voice again. She had returned- she had come back!

He jumped out of the coffin, throwing his cloak over his shoulders. His heart pounded as he got into the boat and made his way across the lake.

As Meg watched Erik's outline slowly appear out of the mist, her need to see him intensified, the aching feeling filling her to the point of strangulation. She heard the boat scrape against the rocks, and found herself trembling in anticipation. She met Erik's eyes, not sure what to say to him. Should she tell him how much she really missed him, or just act as though her turning up at his home in the middle of the night was nothing out of the ordinary?

She was still debating over whether or not to open her mouth, when Erik simply extended his hand to help her into the boat, and no words needed to be spoken. They moved down the subterranean passage slowly, pushing their way gently through the ethereal mist that surrounded them.

They were halfway to the lair when Erik spoke in a soft, velvet trimmed voice. "I wondered when you'd return," he said confidently, though he found it hard to keep his tone of steady indifference. It was not as easy as he'd expected.

"How did you know that I would?" Meg countered, though not angrily. She kept her eyes straight ahead.

"Judging by the looks of things, that questions answers itself, does it not?" he retorted smoothly.

Meg didn't respond; she knew he was right.

"But in answer to your question, I knew you would come back because I know that you feel a connection to this place. The Opera, you see. You understand it. You know how it can take you and transform you into something beautiful. How when you are wrapped in its music, you can see the beauty of it, and know it for what it really is. The Opera calls to you, Meg. I know that it does. That is why you return."

_That could be interpreted one of two ways_, Meg thought. Was Erik really talking about the Opera, she wondered. Possibly. But the way he spoke about the inner beauty, she imagined he was probably alluding to himself.

The boat came to the opposite shore.

They both stepped off, facing each other at last.

Meg opened her mouth as if to speak, but Erik beat her to it. "You should rest now, Meg," he said. "We will have much to talk about tomorrow."

"We could talk now," Meg said.

He took her hand in a dominating way, eyes never leaving her face. "Tomorrow, Meg," he said silkily.

He led her back down the passage to her bedroom. As she stepped into the room, it felt to Meg like she was coming home after a week of being away.

"Goodnight, Meg," Erik said softly, letting go of her hand and shutting the door. There was a fleeting moment when Meg was considering begging him to stay, but the moment died when the door clicked shut.

With a satisfied but tired sigh she got into bed, snuggling under the sheets which smelled of incense and sandalwood- Erik's scent. She drifted off to sleep a few moments later, and for the first time in several days, was not plagued by dreams.

* * *

A/N: ahhh- our little Meg has returned to Erik... but will it last? Hey- I just couldn't keep them apart, so BE HAPPY NOW! Up next: Will these two finally admit their feelings to each other? Well, much as i'd like to dish the dirt on the rest of the plotline, that would spoil the other twists that I can tell you are forthcoming. so you'll have to read on...! 


	28. Hands

Chapter 27- Hands

Erik was lying awake later that night, thinking.

Meg had come back.

She had really come back.

He couldn't explain why- he didn't know her reasons for doing so, but he was glad that she had. He wanted to hope that it was for him... he wanted to believe that she cared enough to come back to him, not just to the security that the Opera House offered. Quite possibly she was simply back because she had nowhere else to go. But still, he thought, she'd been gone a week. And if she was only back because she was homeless, why had she come in the dead of night?

He shook his head in frustration. Once again, Meg was leaving him puzzled.

He didn't sleep for the rest of the night.

Meg was already up when Erik came out of his room the next morning.

They made eye contact, though neither of them wanted to be the first to speak. Minutes of silence passed between them.

"I'm sorry for what I said in the cemetery," Meg said suddenly, in a quiet voice.

Erik gave a small, half nod of acknowledgement, but remained silent.

Meg sighed. "I didn't mean what I said," she apologized feebly.

"Yes you did," said Erik, ice trimming his words. "I know you, Meg. You meant every word that you said to me that day. And I understand. You are within your right to."

_Yes,_ he thought. _Convince yourself she hates you. It's the only way you'll be able to keep yourself in check._

"I was angry," she said. "I was thinking about how we could have gotten out earlier... if we hadn't argued so much."

"And so the fault for that fell to me, I suppose?" he retorted, sounding more angry than he had intended to.

"You were the one with the power to help our escape, so yes," Meg said, matching his level of intensity.

Erik laughed harshly. "How can you honestly stand here and blame me for not getting you out when it was you who so often instigated our quarrels? The fault belongs to no one but yourself, Meg."

He was beginning to lose his temper. He didn't want Meg to hate him, but he didn't want to end up saying something that would hint of how he felt about her.

The confliction between the two emotions was almost more than he could handle.

"Me? What you're saying makes no sense, Erik! If I constantly drove you to lose your temper so, why didn't you want me gone?"

Erik didn't answer. He didn't trust himself to speak. Instead he turned away from Meg.

Meg let out an exasperated sigh. She sank down into a chair. "Everything's changed, Erik," she said suddenly. "Everything's different now. Maman is gone... and I- I don't know what to do. I don't want to go on living like I am now... alone in an apartment working for next to nothing in a seamstress' shop. I want to dance again... I want the Opera to come back, and for things to be like they were before." She felt herself losing control again. "I wish you had never written _Don Juan Triumphant_," she said. "I wish you had never brought all this on the Opera. You destroyed more than the theatre, Erik- you destroyed our lives. Maman's and mine. The Opera was our home, and we weren't the only ones. The other dancers- this was their home, too..." she trailed off.

Erik still said nothing.

Meg stood up, knowing that the conversation was over. Without another word, she retreated to her room.

Erik heard her door click shut, and thought defeatedly that he was hopeless. He had done too much wrong in his life, and now the people he hurt were coming back to haunt him.

* * *

Meg heard a knock on her door some time later, and she jumped up to answer it. After spending the day alone, she was ready to put aside the morning's squabble. She opened her door to find the phantom standing before her, dressed as usual in evening clothes and wearing his thick black velvet cape.

She looked at him expectantly.

"Come with me," he said, holding out his hand to her.

She took it, heart fluttering somewhat. She was perfectly capable of walking by herself, and she knew that Erik knew this. But there was an air of sweet seduction around the gesture, and Meg slipped her hand into his without a second thought, letting him lead her down the hall and into the boat.

Their trip across the underground lake was a slow, silent one. But inside the silence was the ancient echo of a song...

_In sleep he sang to me_

_In dreams he came_

_That voice that calls to me_

_And speaks my name_

_And do I dream again_

_For now I find _

_The Phantom of the Opera is here_

_Inside my mind..._

Erik helped Meg off the boat, leading her down the passage and out into the Opera House.

They began to climb up the levels of the house, going up the old wooden winding staircases until they came to a door. Erik opened it noiselessly, and led Meg out onto the roof, finally letting go of her hand.

The night air was chill and silent. Overhead, the stars were woven into the clear, black veil of the night, shining their light over the city. The moon was a sliver in the eastern sky, casting a pale glow over the rooftop.

Meg breathed in sharply, eyes heavenward, gazing up at the stars. She had seen the night sky before, but had never taken much notice. But here on the roof, she somehow felt closer to the stars- she felt for the first time in a long while like she was a part of something larger, something grander.

Erik saw Meg's eyes filled with wonder, and smiled softly to himself.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" he remarked.

Meg nodded, bringing her gaze down to meet his. "It's magnificent," she said. "I never knew there were so many."

"More than any man could ever count," said Erik.

Meg's gaze returned to the stars. "Do you come up here often?" she asked.

"I did," Erik said, almost inaudibly. He remembered the last time he had come up here.

'_You will curse the day you did not do... all that the phantom asked of you...'_

He remembered the rage with which he had cursed Christine and her lover, atop Apollo's Lyre that night. It had been snowing that night... the stars had been hidden by clouds. But they couldn't hide the betrayal that was committed. It was on this rooftop that Erik had experienced his heart being broken.

He noticed Meg shivering, and took off his cloak, draping it over her shoulders. The gesture was unexpected, but Meg was thankful for it, and she pulled it more tightly around herself.

"Come over here," he said, beckoning her over to the ledge of the roof.

She came to him timidly, and he pointed downward to the ground. Beneath her, Meg saw all of Paris before her. The street lamps cast a pale yellow glow over the cobblestone streets, and in the distance other lights from other houses and buildings also illuminated the scene.

Meg was speechless. She had never known Paris to be this enchantingly beautiful.

"This is beautiful, Erik," she breathed.

"This is my life, Meg," he said. "This is how I have lived. From here I have seen everything... all the beauty you see before you now I have seen many times before. I have seen everything from here- isolated and alone, looking down on a world which seems as far away to me as the stars in the sky. Always watching, never experiencing... that is how I live."

"The world is not all cold and cruelty, Erik. I don't know what kind of existence you have known... but if you could only see the good there is outside your walls." Meg said thoughtfully.

Erik shook his head. "I can't."

Meg bowed her head. She understood his apprehension. She knew that she could try to convince him all she wanted, but he would never leave his sanctuary.

Meg reached out suddenly and took Erik's hand again. "I know," she said. She looked down at their hands, entwined together. To think that only weeks ago, she hadn't known this man at all. In spite of all his anger and cynicism, Erik was the most extraordinary person that Meg had ever known. If only the whole world could see him for his genius and not for his face... he could do great things.

Erik, too, was watching their hands in wonder.

Meg seemed to understand... she seemed to know what kept him hiding in the shadows of his mind.

They stayed on the rooftop together until Erik saw Meg's shoulders shaking and her teeth chattering from the cold, despite the cape he had given her.

"Come," he said. "We should go back."

Reluctantly, Meg followed him back into the Opera House. When they came to the dressing room, Erik paused and said, "You don't have to come back down if you don't want to, Meg. You can sleep in one of the other rooms up here, if you wish."

Meg shook her head, trying not to let on that the thought of sleeping on her own again, especially in the Opera, frightened her. "I'll come back with you," she said.

"Very well," said Erik, mildly surprised by her decision. They made the journey back to his house and when they returned, Meg went off to bed, leaving Erik to his own thoughts.

* * *

A/N: ooooh- don't like this chapter much. it depressed me... sat in front of my computer for a whole hour or so, and wrote basically nothing. But I guess it was a nice little go-between chappie! Will try to post again later today! let me know what u think. 


	29. Feel

Chapter 28- Feel

A/N: you all are going to HATE me for this. But pleez- spare me the angry e-mails because it WILL work out! So yeah… well, read and see what you think!

* * *

Meg's first thought when she woke up was that she had missed work two days in a row.

Her second thought was that she didn't care at all.

Down here in the labyrinth, time just seemed to disappear- nothing else mattered but what was happening here and now. She wondered vaguely what would happen if anyone were to go to her house in search of her, only to find it empty and harboring no signs of life. Then she realized that she was a person of such insignificance that no one would even bother to look for her, except perhaps Christine.

But the new Vicomtess (A/N: is that title right?) was probably busy- much too busy to worry about her friend on the other side of town.

Meg sighed, and rolled out of bed. She was unsure now of what to do. She could ask Erik to stay down here... but she didn't know how he would respond. What if he said no? Then she'd have to leave, to go back to her lonely apartment and live her lonely, black life in mourning. Her life was at such a point of indecision; it was overwhelming to Meg to think about it.

When she ventured out of her room, Erik was nowhere to be seen. "Erik?" she called out lightly, voice echoing a little in the cavernous house.

He didn't answer.

She walked back down the hall, toward his room. "Erik?" She pushed the door open.

No one was there.

Meg began to panic- where had he gone... what had he done?

Coming back into the main room, a piece of parchment on the organ top caught Meg's attention.

She picked it up and found, scrolled in blood-red ink, a message.

_Meg,_

_I will return in a few hours' time._

_-Erik_

Meg sighed in relief, then looked around the cave. What to do until he came back, she wondered. For a short time, she occupied herself with a book of Greek mythology that Erik had lying around. But for some reason, she found it hard to concentrate. She was here in Erik's house- alone.

Her thoughts strayed to his room... she had only been in there a few times before...and he seemed to always be hiding something. Maybe now would be the perfect time to do some poking around...

Meg had always been highly inquisitive as a child, and as she had matured, she had become rather nosy. She had been a constant source of gossip as a chorus girl back when the Opera had been at its best. Curiosity now getting the best of her, Meg made her way back into Erik's room. An involuntary shiver ran down her spine when she saw the coffin, surrounded by black candles. On the walls, she saw, were old posters for various operas. There were bookshelves lining some of the walls, and Erik's desk was on another wall. On top of one of the bookshelves was a small assortment of masks. There were other normal, white porcelain ones like Erik wore usually, but also several other full masks, some black, some white. Meg picked up a particularly intricate white one. She remembered it as the one that Erik had worn the night of the masquerade, when he had stalked in as the Red Death, wielding a sword at the managers, Andre and Firmin, demanding that they perform his opera. She also saw the mask Erik had worn for _Don Juan Triumphant_- made of black silk. It looked as though it had been wrinkled sometime recently... there were crease marks and crinkles in the fabric. She shivered as she recalled the memory of the mask being ripped from his face. She had been standing in the wings that night, watching. She, like the rest of the audience, had gasped in horror at seeing the Phantom's face. His face really was horrible, thought Meg. The scarred, twisted flesh was gruesome to look at, but she remembered also the pain that seemed to always be in Erik's eyes. The pain seemed to make him seem more human; his sorrow connected him to the people who hurt him with their words and hate. She ran her fingers across the dark mask, wishing that Erik didn't have to bear this burden. She wished that he could be normal, and accepted like another human being.

She wished he could be loved.

_He could be_, her intuition chimed in. _He isn't incapable of the feeling. He just **needs** to feel. _

_But how?_ Meg thought. She didn't even know herself how she felt about Erik.

_Maybe it's time to find out..._

Her eyes caught on something else on the shelf; a small jewelry box. Curious, she thought, picking it up. Inside was a small, gold band, with a small, clear diamond set in it. It looked like a wedding ring, from what Meg could tell.

She gasped quietly, remembering what she had seen when she had first come down to the labyrinth with the mob.

There had been a wedding veil...

Had Erik tried to marry Christine? Had he asked her to be his bride?

It was heart wrenching to think about. Unrequited love... and in Erik's case it just seemed even more pitiful and tragic.

An icy hand suddenly closed around her wrist, freezing her blood, and causing her heart to stop beating.

"You..." snarled Erik, "are not to be in this room!"

His eyes were malicious.

"I- I'm sorry..." Meg stuttered, the ring box slipping out of her fingers as she tried to back away.

But Erik countered her movements, staying in front of her, not letting her leave.

"Why?" he asked, enraged. "Why must you women always be curious? Christine was the same way. When will you learn that curiosity _could cost you your life_?" His hand shot out wildly, knocking everything off one of the bookshelves.

By now, Meg was trembling in fear.

"Why do you want to know my secrets? Why do you look for the things that I hide? I have reasons, Meg!" he roared, more angry than Meg had seen him in a long while. "Do you think because I am a monster that I can't keep things hidden from the world? Why do you want to know? And why did you come back!"

There was a moment of silence. Meg looked unprepared for his question. He saw her look of surprise, and repeated his question, this time more quietly.

"Why did you come back?" He took a step toward her, and Meg took a step back, feeling the cold stone of the wall against her back. Her spine went rigid. How did she always manage to end up in this position?

"Why?" he breathed again.

"I have to have a reason?" she retorted, trying to appear undaunted by his sudden outburst.

"You must have had one," he said menacingly. "And I want to know what that was."

Meg didn't answer, but she was looking more and more uncomfortable with each second that passed. She met Erik's eyes fearfully.

"Answer me," he whispered scathingly, taking another step closer.

Meg bit back the truth. That she had come back because she had found herself unable to live without him. That he haunted her, day and night. That he was always there, in her head.

She couldn't say it- he was too close, she couldn't tell him...

But his eyes were boring into hers, as though he were trying to read her thoughts.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked painedly. "Why do you interrogate me like I'm some criminal?"

"I want the truth," he said.

It was no use- Meg found herself powerless against the intensity of Erik's gaze.

His hand suddenly grabbed her by the wrists, sending an electric jolt through her body.

"Let go," she said in fear.

The vulnerability in her voice made Erik want to back down, but he knew that Meg was not as naive and fragile as she sounded. He saw the effect his closeness had on her; it was time to put it to the test. Pushing her back against the wall, he swept down and captured her lips in a dominant, demanding kiss.

He felt Meg react immediately- every mental and physical barrier that she had working to shield herself against him. His own boldness shocked him, but some animalistic instinct told him to take what he wanted.

One by one, he stripped away Meg's defenses, sinking them both deeper into the hell that he knew he was taking them to.

He had rendered her defenseless- she seemed to submit to him, finally allowing herself to respond to him. Whether she did it out of true feeling or not, Erik didn't know, but he felt her arms slip around his neck.

In her own mind, Meg knew that she should be afraid, she knew that she should be fighting, kicking and screaming for Erik to release her, but instead of fear, she found herself searing with a strange desire. A strange wanting. She didn't _want_ Erik to stop. The feeling was what she could only describe as lust. _One of the seven deadly sins_, she thought.

_Guess this means I'm damned_, she thought sub-consciously. But at the moment, she decided she didn't really care.

Their lips separated for the briefest second so that they could breathe, but Erik had no intention of stopping. He was only a man, after all, he thought desperately, trying in his mind to justify his actions. He had desires, just like any other man on the earth. And after years of denial...

He let his lips trail down Meg's neck. She gasped sharply as he did this, gooseflesh breaking out on her arms. She suddenly felt ashamed at her inexperience and insecurity. Erik probably thought her a child. But his hold on her wrists was growing increasingly tighter. As his lips found her mouth again, he heard her whimper in pain.

He seemed to snap back to life, and backed away.

She looked at him, eyes questioning.

"I'm sorry...," he said, trying to catch his breath. "Go... just go."

He turned away from her quickly.

"Erik-"

"_Just go_, damn you!" he shouted.

Meg left.

Erik let out a cry of rage, and slammed his fists into the wall, letting his anger drain from him so that he could think clearly again. When his mind calmed, he marveled at his stupidity. _You should have known better!_ His mind screamed. Erik knew that that was true. He had let himself go too far... he had lost control and it had frightened him. Things could have gone worse, he thought. If there was a next time...

He shuddered. He didn't like to think about what he was capable of. And Meg... Meg deserved a better man than he would ever be. She should have someone handsome, someone noble and wealthy, who could take care of her. She should have someone who could take her places, who could go out into the world without fear of reprimand. In his mind, he knew what he would have to do now. He would have to send Meg away; she couldn't live here with him any longer, not when he was liable to lose control of himself again. But, he thought exasperatedly, he hadn't meant it to be so rough. He hadn't meant to startle Meg. He had just wanted to feel... to make sure that he still could...

* * *

In her room, Meg was lying on her bed, silent tears running down her cheeks. She didn't know why she was crying- she imagined it was from the emotional stress of the last few weeks, but she couldn't stop the tears as she tried to piece together what had just happened. She felt like her emotions had shattered into a million pieces, like a crystal glass fallen to the ground. In her heart, all she felt was pity for Erik and she cried for him. Meg knew that she should feel angry, that she should hate him, but instead she found herself understanding what he had done. He had meant to do it to frighten her, but beneath his harshness, she knew that he had done it out of some form of love or attachment. He wanted her, but he was afraid.

But where would they go from here? She wondered. How would they pick up and move on after this? Their next confrontation, she knew, would be an awkward one.

Erik heard footsteps in the hallway some hours later. He was sitting at his desk, working on an aria that he had started a few years before but had never finished. His grip on the fountain pen in his hand tightened as the footsteps drew nearer.

"Erik?" came Meg's soft voice from the doorway.

His hand shook.

Meg came into the room and stood behind Erik's chair. Placing a hand on his shoulder, she turned him around. He looked up at her with repentful eyes, like a sad puppy looking up at its master. The expression of hopelessness on his face was more than she could bear. She stroked his unmasked cheek gently, feeling Erik shudder and close his eyes, surprised at the contact.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

"For what?" she asked, taking his face in her hands.

He opened his eyes. "For everything," he said.

There was a pause.

Then, Erik cleared his throat and continued. "There's nothing holding you here anymore," he said. "Why do you stay?"

Meg shrugged. "It's better than being alone," she said.

"You shouldn't stay here anymore," he said half-heartedly. "You belong out there," he said, gesturing to the world above.

"I want to stay, Erik."  
He closed his eyes. She was making this difficult. "But you _can't_ stay, Meg," he said sadly.

"What?" she asked softly.

"I- I want you to leave this place," he said. "I want you to leave me. Just go... return to your world."

Meg's face fell. "How can you ask that of me?" she asked. "You would throw me back into that world where I have nothing? Please..." she said, her voice receding to a whisper. "Let me stay..." She lowered her head to Erik's lips, surprised at her own boldness. Their kiss lasted only a moment though, because Meg pulled away and, holding his eyes said, _"Please, Erik."_

Her words couldn't have hurt him more- they inflicted more damage than morphine ever could. But he knew, he had to do it. He had no choice.

"Please don't argue, Meg," he said. "It is best this way. If you were to stay... I couldn't be responsible for my actions."

She took a step back. "I don't care. I would stay down here with you," she whispered. "If you wanted me to. You wouldn't have to be alone..."

He shook his head. "I want to live out the rest of my life... alone," he said, adding the final flourish onto the biggest lie of his life.

Meg looked at him in disbelief. "Is that what you want?" she asked in a thin whisper. "Do you want for me to leave you here? Do you want me to hate you, Erik?"

"If it will make leaving easier, then yes, Meg, I want you to hate me!" he hissed.

Meg bowed her head. "Then... then I'll go," she said defeatedly. In her mind, she was hoping that playing along might make Erik change his mind.

She looked at him for a long time, looking for any sign that might give away that he was lying.

But she found none. His face was like stone.

"Will you take me back?" she asked.

He nodded, and stood up. Meg wanted him to take her hand again, but he walked past her, toward the boat.

Frustrated and confused, she climbed in behind him, and he began to row them once more.

When Meg stepped off the boat, she turned back to look at Erik. "This is goodbye, then, Erik?" she asked with a final air.

"Yes," he said, willing his eyes not to betray his pain.

As tears formed in her eyes, Meg stepped forward and kissed Erik on the cheek. The kiss was quick, but it seemed to Erik to last forever. It was Meg's final stab at his conscience, what she wanted him to remember forever.

Then, before he could see the threatening tears, Meg turned and walked away, disappearing down the dark corridor. When she was out of sight, Erik fell to his knees in the boat and cried.

* * *

A/N: okay... i can see you all staring at your screens in disbelief, thinking "no WAY would she have walked out on him that easily!" Right? Well face facts people- she did it. it was hard to write, don't get me wrong. I almost couldn't do it. But fear not, because this is not the end! And for the sake of my life, that's probably a good thing because I can just see you guys looking for sharp objects with which to throw at me!

Which brings me to my next question to my loyal readers: what do you all think should happen next? should these 2 get together fully? or be doomed to live apart? let me know what you think- i am open for suggestions! plus, i am having some issues with plot structure for some of the upcoming chapters. I just don't know how I want this to end. So any suggestions would be appreciated. Seriously. Anything. Like, send me your caffeine-induced rantings if you must, but send me something!

K?

Muah! Hugs and brownies to you all!


	30. Shattered

Chapter 29- Shattered

A/N: **Sparrow's Pearl- **in response to what you brought up in your last review: I went back and looked at the chapters and I think you have a point. My transitions between those few chapters were pretty crappy. However, the way I had it planned, he _wasn't _confident that Meg would return, but when she comes back, he says it because he wants to maintain that air of superiority that he seems to have. Basically, he wants Meg to think that he has her all figured out, when in reality, he doesn't. Does that even begin to make sense? I'm not even sure if it does, but that's my thinking on it! And feel free to send me your thoughts, whatever they are, anytime!

* * *

Meg collapsed on the bed in her flat, trembling from cold and weak with anxiety. The walk back from the Opera house was a blur- she hadn't paid any attention to anything. She felt a horrible emptiness inside of her- a gap that would never be filled until she was back beneath the Opera House again.

It was near midday, but the day was cloudy, and the sky threatened rain or sleet. Meg looked around the empty room. So this was to be her life now, she thought. This was how she would live. Alone, in this empty house. With a sardonic laugh, she realized that she was no better off than Erik was- she, like him, was now confined to this house... this prison.

If she could have only explained to him... if he would have only listened. She knew he had sent her away because of what he had done earlier. He was afraid that it would happen again, and he didn't want to cause her harm in the future. _But it wouldn't matter,_ Meg thought, _because I love him_.

She started.

She loved him.

It was the first time she had ever admitted it even to herself, and it took her by surprise. But as her mind repeated it, she knew it was true.

"I love him," Meg whispered to herself, the words giving her chills of excitement.

Despite all the times they had argued, all the times that they had seemingly hated each other, Meg had come to love Erik. And she was fairly sure that he felt something for her- she had sensed it in the way he had kissed her, why him trying to hurt her had failed. That kiss had been intended to show her his dark, unforgiving side, but he had failed because he couldn't bring himself to do it. His dominant position had turned into a vulnerable one, crying out to Meg to save him.

But she had missed her chance. There would be no return now... Meg put her foot down on that. She wouldn't return... she wouldn't be the one to go crawling back to him again. If he truly wanted her, he would come to her. With a shaky sigh, she sat up.

But would he?  
Or would he just let himself slip away, falling away from life until it left him?

'_I want to live out the rest of my life... alone._' From the way he had said it, it didn't sound as though Erik expected to live much longer. But he was still young, she thought, and- except for the morphine- he was otherwise strong and healthy.

She didn't want him to be alone.

She couldn't stand the thought of him living in that cave, for the rest of his days, in isolation and loneliness.

But she wouldn't go back to him. At least not yet.

* * *

The very next day, though, Meg's resolve was tested. When she showed up at Madame deVillier's seamstresses shop the next day for work, she found that her employer had hired another girl.

"We did not hear from you for nearly three days, Mademoiselle," the aging woman said, hands outstretched apologetically. "I cannot 'ave my workers just not show up for work. Business is business. I am sorry."

And with that, she turned her back on Meg, leaving the young blonde without a job. Over the next three days, Meg tried desperately to find work around the city, but no one had need of her. Her feeble savings were almost gone- she spent her last few francs on food for the week, knowing that when it was gone she would be in trouble. A week after that, there was a sharp knock on her door. Opening it, Meg found Monsieur deGaulle, her landlord, standing on her doorway, demanding rent.

In a hollow, dead voice, Meg explained that she didn't have the money that day.

"I will give you until this Friday, Mademoiselle Giry," an angry deGaulle said. "But if you do not have my money, you will be evicted."

Meg nodded dully and shut the door.

She was beyond the point of feeling any panic.

She thought briefly of going to Christine for financial aide, but stamped the thought from her mind. That would be asking charity, and Meg was too proud to accept charity from anyone, even from her best friend.

She left the apartment on Thursday, packing all her things into her small carpetbag, and leaving the key on the table, along with a note.

She didn't want another confrontation with deGaulle; she would just simply disappear and become another peasant on the streets.

Meg walked aimlessly for a time, stopping in a few shops, asking for work, but was turned away time after time.

As the day began to expire and night came upon Paris, Meg found herself facing her first night on the streets. Her stomach growled with hunger as she curled up in an alcove in one of the alleys, resting her head on the carpetbag, trying to sleep. She woke the next morning hungrier than she'd ever been before in her life. She knew that if she didn't find something to eat soon, she would probably pass out from hunger. She picked herself up and made her way into the center of Paris, as the sun was rising. There were several street vendors out, and Meg knew that she would have to resort to stealing if she was to stay alive. She was dreadfully afraid of being caught, but tried to calm herself enough to approach one particular fruit stand. The vendor was turned away from her, helping another customer. Taking a look around, Meg's hand quickly darted out and seized an apple, hiding it quickly in the folds of her skirt before turning away and leaving quickly. She sat on the back steps of a house a few blocks away and sank her teeth into the tough skin of the fruit ravenously. The apple was gone in less than a minute- core, seeds and all. When it was gone, Meg wished desperately for another one, but felt guilty about stealing. She couldn't go on stealing, she thought. She needed a job, badly. As she passed a pack of women around her age, dressed in raunchy lace-trimmed dresses giggling and eyeing men walking down the street, a gruesome idea filled Meg's mind…

* * *

Back in the labyrinth, Erik was still basking in his solitude, and angrily so. In just the past three days, he had written music that made _Don Juan Triumphant_ look like a happy story filled with sunshine and pansies. He had broken countless inanimate objects, broken out into innumerable fits of rage, but nothing he did could bring Meg back. He cursed himself constantly for banishing her- why on earth had he been so stupid?

He had wanted her to stay, and badly.

When he thought about the last few minutes that they had been together, he could barely stop himself from crying out in anguish. If only he hadn't let his sensibility talk!

Now that she was gone, Erik wanted to die.

His Opera was dead.

Any chance at love that he might have had was dead.

It seemed as though Death herself were mocking him, and calling to him at the same time, the temptation fresh and raw.

And yet, Erik knew he wouldn't be able to take his own life. He had been in this dilemma before, and he wouldn't do it. If he was to die, it would not be by his own hand.

But what he feared was living.

Going on, in this solitude, in this utter isolation.

Standing up from the organ, he threw his black cloak over his shoulders.

Time to pay old Paris a visit.

* * *

A/N: Well... that makes things a tad interesting. Meg's going to sink to some... new lows, and Erik's finally getting out for a change! Will they run into each other by "accident"? I think I'll torture you with that for a while! I know that everyone's pissed because they didn't get together last time, but they just aren't ready to say 'I love you' yet. Don't worry though, they will be, and hopefully soon.

Much love!


	31. New Lows

Chapter 30- Desperation

A/N: this chapter should get... interesting. I'm going to say this: this chapter deals with some adult themes. Nothing will be very detailed, as that isn't my kind of writing, but the implication is there, so this is just a warning.

also: vegman549 (i hope i got that name right!)- lol, thanks a bunch for that like, page of reviews that you left me! i'm glad you love the story. and that line about Don Juan was my favorite line from the story so far too! hope this chapter doesn't disappoint!

* * *

Erik made his way up to the roof, looking down on the Parisian streets, lit up as they were every night by the street lamps. Adjacent to the Opera House were the rooftops of other buildings, darkened and waiting to be explored. 

This was his domain, his realm of shadows.

When he had been younger, he had gone out like this often, watching the couples strolling in the night, coming home from the Opera. He had been fascinated by people when he had been a younger man; he wanted to know everything about each person that would pass by. He would spend hours pondering over them, wondering where they had come from, where they were going. As he had grown up, however, the novelty had worn off as he began to realize that he could never be a part of his own race. Around that time, he had begun to loathe humans, as well as his own existence.

But tonight, he would roam the rooftops of Paris once more. He didn't know what he expected to find on his midnight excursion, but in his heart he knew he was hoping to find some trace of Meg, to see her even if she couldn't see him.

Slowly, like some tall, gangly spider, Erik crawled out onto one of the gargoyles, heart beating slightly faster than normal as he looked out to the awning of the next building. The first jump is the hardest, he reminded himself. The trick was to not hold anything back. If there was even a fraction of indecision, he knew he wouldn't make it. He had to take the ultimate leap of faith- to fling himself off the roof without holding back, trusting himself completely. Taking a deep breath, he launched himself off of the gargoyle, gloved hands reaching out for the opposite roof. There was a fleeting second when he thought he wouldn't make it, when he felt himself almost slip to his death, and then he felt the stone of the roof beneath his hand. He tightened his arm muscles, flexing them as he pulled himself up onto the roof, and stood, letting out an adrenaline-filled breath. Crouching down, he peered over the railing of the roof to the street below him. He looked at the Opera house- his Opera house, and was filled with a subdued mixture of joy and pain.

Then, he took off, moving quickly across the rooftops, jumping from one to the next, making his way down the streets, pausing every now and then.

He saw no signs of Meg, however, and when he finally reached as far as the rooftops would take him, he sat defeated in the shadows, watching the moon rise over the Seine.

He took off his mask, and let the cold winter night air caress his face for the first time in probably years. It was an unfamiliar touch; the feeling of cold on his cheek. He ran his fingers over his deformity gently, feeling the full extent of his physical flaw, cursing whatever had caused him to be this way. In his mind, Erik couldn't help wondering if Christine might have loved him if he had looked like a normal man.

* * *

Meanwhile, Meg had no idea that Erik was close. She had no idea that he was thinking of her. Meg was thinking of nothing at all except for wondering how her life had gotten so terribly messed up. She was lying in a drafty building on a straw pallet, surrounded by other young women at the only place that she was able to find "work". The place was a shabby establishment, a haven for prostitutes. The owner of the place, a dumpy, toothless old woman had told Meg that she would provide food and lodging, as long as Meg consented to give her fifty percent of her "wages". Meg, too tired and hungry to consider the repercussions of choosing this line of work, had agreed. She had joined the other girls in their simple meal of bread and gruel, which she ate hungrily. The other young women were nice enough, if vulgar and unladylike. It struck Meg as she lie there what she would have to do tomorrow. The thought repulsed her beyond anything else- selling herself to whoever would pay- but she was desperate. If things went well, she wouldn't be here for long. This was only temporary, she assured herself; until she could find a more respectable job somewhere.

* * *

Meg woke to the sound of giddy laughter.

She sat up groggily as light suddenly flooded the room as a door burst open. A handful of giggling young women piled in to the already crowded room.

"Did you see his face, Estelle? The yellow bastard! Probably still standin' there!"

They giggled again.

The other girls were waking up.

"Successful night, Scarlett?" one of them who was sleeping next to Meg asked.

"Oui," the girl replied. "A few more, and I will be living like royalty!" she laughed sarcastically, falling onto an empty mattress, and taking out a small bottle.

"Where'd you get that?" one of the other girls asked.

Scarlett smiled slyly, unscrewing the lid of the bottle and raising it to her lips. "Palmed it offa one of 'em."

More laughter.

"How ever did you manage that?" another asked.

"Lots of experience," she said with the same sly smile. As she drank, her eyes scanned the room, and fell on Meg. "Who are you?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"M-Meg," Meg responded.

"She's new," the girl next to her said. "She came last night."

"Tiny little thing, aren't you?" Scarlett commented. She brushed a strand of striking reddish hair out of her eyes. "How old are you?"

"Nineteen," Meg whispered.

"Ah. Young blood. I imagine you'll make good money. Mind yeh, the old hag'll rob you blind if you don't guard your profit."

Meg raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Madame Galdier. The proprietor of this establishment," Scarlett elaborated. "She's a right old witch if there ever was one." Scarlett took another sip of whatever was in the bottle. "But don't let my raving scare you." She extended her hand. "I'm Scarlett. Pleased to meet you, Meg."

Meg shook her hand limply.

"And I'm Giselle," the girl next to her said.

Just then, the door banged open again, and Madame Galdier strode (or rather, waddled) in, hand outstretched.

"Wages!" she demanded. "Gimme yer wages!"

The girls who had just returned dug into their pockets, collectively producing a few coins which were handed over to the old woman with much grumbling.

When the woman left, Meg noticed Scarlett eyeing her again. "Is that your only dress?" she asked, gesturing to Meg's high-necked black gown.

"I have another, but it's the same style," she said quietly.

Scarlett pursed her lips. "Well, that won't do," she said. "Renee," she said to one of the other girls. "You have a spare gown, right?"

A brunette in the corner nodded. "Yes."

"Lend it to Meg for now, until we can fashion her clothes into something more... desirable." To Meg, she said, "This business is all about selling. Men won't look twice at you if you're up to your neck in fabric. You look like a church girl, ready to enter the convent!" The girls laughed, and Meg felt herself flush. "Don't worry, dear," Scarlett simpered. "It's quite all right. We'll have you fixed up in no time."

Renee produced her other gown, which Meg had no choice but to put on. The bodice was very tight, clinging to her outline, and emphasizing her chest. The cut was dangerously low- showing off more of Meg than she knew was decent. The dress was a dark forest-green color.

"Magnificent," said Scarlett. "You wear that color very well, Meg."

"Thank you," said Meg, feeling as though she would pass out from the constricting bodice.

"We could have a money making opportunity with you, Meg," Scarlett said mischievously. "Oh yes. Just wait for tonight."

* * *

When night fell again on Paris, Meg found herself feeling a dull pit in her stomach. She felt like vomiting whenever she thought of what she was about to do. She was with Scarlett, Renee, Giselle and two other girls, Estelle and Juliette, all of whom were having a loud, boisterous conversation about a certain tavern, which they frequently patronized. "We'll take you there tonight, Meg, after we make our rounds," said Scarlett merrily. Meg had figured out that Scarlett was the oldest one of them all, and as such was seen as a sort of leader. As far as her job went, she also seemed to be the most "experienced", and had wasted no time in telling Meg of the finer points of the occupation. As they trolled through the alleys, they spotted a group of men standing at the corner.

"Let's go, ladies," said Scarlett, as they walked closer...

* * *

Above the streets, Erik was on the watch again. It seemed as though his roof-climbing days had been resurrected, as he made his way through the city, watching the scenes below him. As the night lengthened, the streets became less and less crowded. When the night began to give way to the early morning, men began to stumble out of the taverns. It was then that Erik saw her.

She was there- Meg, coming out of the tavern, surrounded by other women and a few drunken men. Meg looked as she had the night she had been drunk before; she was giggling rather hard. She was dressed in a very raunchy gown of dark green, and her hair looked tangled and matted. He could see dark spots under her eyes, even from his elevation, and assumed she had been wearing makeup. She was walking oddly- whether as an effect of drinking or of something else, Erik couldn't say. Though she was giggling, she didn't look happy. She looked thin and starved, and very fragile. Erik winced as one of the drunken men put his arm around her and whispered something in her ear. Meg looked disgusted by whatever it was he said, but one of the other women came to her rescue, pulling her away from the drunk as the men and women separated at the street corner. The women looked as though they were going to head back to wherever it was that they lived, and Erik prepared to follow them. Maybe he could find out where Meg lived...

* * *

Meg felt nauseated as she and the other women walked back toward the house. Giselle had her firmly by the arm.

"Poor girl," she said to Scarlett. "She drank too much, I expect."

"Maybe," said Scarlett. "She's going to feel like hell when she snaps out of it, and not just from the drinking."

"It's a good thing she wasn't out on her own," Giselle said seriously.

"I know. Well, come, let's get her in," said Scarlett, as they had finally arrived back. Meg opened her eyes blearily, and looked around. Right before the door opened, she looked upward, and for a split second could have sworn she had seen a figure cloaked in black on the rooftop...

* * *

A/N: so what think ye, my readers? i really didn't want to give Meg this little "profession" but it just seemed to fit the bill, which at the moment is that of angst and despair. Trust me, by the end of the next chapter, we're all going to want to Punjab both Erik AND Meg, because they're such idiots. Trust me, I know. I wrote it, after all! so review! 


	32. Pride

Chapter 31- Pride

A/N: I will warn you: this chapter is frustrating. it was frustrating to write, and i think it will probably be frustrating to read because our two little babies are SO STUBBORN! but let me know what you think? please? please? also: any suggestions for the general wind-down and (gasp) end to this story, i would love to hear 'em!

* * *

Erik watched with disdain as Meg and the other women left the street, entering what was unmistakably a whorehouse. So this was what Meg had resorted to, he thought. Selling herself.

He felt a sudden pang of guilt, knowing that he probably was to blame for this. If he hadn't sent Meg away, she might be safe in his lair right now, instead of drunk and vulnerable here on the streets. The guilt almost gave him the inertia to go down from the roof and take Meg from this horrid place and carry her gently back into the safety of the Opera House. But he stopped himself.

Why not let her live for a while? Maybe she would come back to him... even though he had technically said he never wanted to see her again. He would keep watch over her of course, but why not let her live with the consequences of this life? Even though he knew of his feelings for her, there was still part of him that wanted to see punishment. Except in this case, he was punishing both of them. Perhaps it was his foolish pride, he thought. Nonetheless, he turned away from Meg's "home". The sun was beginning to rise, and he couldn't risk being seen in the day. He headed for the Opera House again, going quickly. The streets were beginning to grow noisy, much to his dismay. If only it could always be night, he thought with a sigh.

* * *

That afternoon found Meg hunched over in the corner of the room, having her third hangover of the day. Giselle was sitting next to her, holding her hair out of the way. "You really had a rough time of it, didn't you, Meg?" she asked sympathetically.

Meg nodded, her throat burning from the action of vomiting. She felt like she had that day in Erik's lair.

In her half-drugged state, Meg was glad to be blissfully out of it. She knew that whatever she had done last night was probably left lost in the memories of drunken stupor. However, once the hangovers subsided a good while later, Meg began to feel another pain, quite different from the pain of being drunk. Lying on her mattress, she couldn't tell the physical pain from the emotional pain- the pain of knowing that she had lost something of hers, that it had been stolen from her almost unwillingly.

Almost.

Why had she let herself do it? She asked herself the question over and over. Why had she let herself become this desperate? Why couldn't she bring herself to swallow her pride and go back to Erik? Would he even take her now, knowing that she had reduced herself to nothing but a prostitute? She made a silent promise to herself to never let Erik find out about this, no matter what.

"Meg?" said Giselle after only what seemed like minutes. "It's time to get ready. We have work to do tonight."

Meg groaned, but sat up and let Renee and Giselle powder her face and paint her eyes and lips with the thick makeup. This ritual was nothing new to Meg; she remembered all too well the daunting process of stage makeup. That was one thing she didn't miss about the Opera- the hours spent preparing for the actual performance.

"Will you be all right tonight, Meg?" Giselle asked.

Meg nodded. "I'll be fine."

"You'll get used to it," she said. "I know it feels awkward... I was the same way. But you'll get used to it."

Meg tried to believe her.

* * *

When they went out again that night, Erik was already watching from his post on the rooftop. He saw Meg walk out, looking a little tipsy and wanted to go down to her.

_Why don't you?_ His heart screamed. _Why are you standing up here like an idiot!_

He sighed.

Everything about this was just too complicated. He followed them, watching as the women worked their charm on every man they passed. Those who were ensnared were ushered into a darkened alley...

He saw Meg attract the attention of a young man. At this, Erik turned away, disgusted. He left the scene, unwilling to witness what he knew would happen next. When he returned to the Opera, he crouched beneath the safety of an intricately carved marble railing, cloak wrapped around him, thinking. Meg shouldn't have to live that way. She shouldn't have to sell her innocence away in order to live.

_Too late for that,_ he thought. The deed was done, and by some random thug who didn't deserve Meg.

An idea wove its way into Erik's mind then. What if he were to be the random man who approached Meg? Maybe he could convince her to come back... or take her by force if she refused, back into his lair.

An interesting prospect, he thought.

But that would mean a trip into the streets... out into the world which he so feared.

He weighed the possibilities, but decided against it. Tomorrow, he wouldn't go out looking for her, he thought. He could get along without her.

He could.

Little did he know, he was about to find out how wrong he was.

* * *

A/N: …:looks into magic literary crystal ball:…. Hmmmm…. I see great changes coming in the next chapter…. What could they be? Guesses, anyone? Review, and I'll see what I can do in posting the next chappie for you! 


	33. Resurrection

Chapter 32- Resurrection

A/N: well. this was originally going to be two separate chapters, but i figured that for the sake of my safety, i should just put up the whole darn thing, because i read all of your reviews, and i'm proud (heh) to say that i've survived my first flames! so my response to some of you:

also, for you guys who have stuck with me through my madness, thank you so so much! i know that these chapters haven't been the best, and that most of you pretty much thought they sucked, but thanks for being positive! My poll still stands: happy ending or something tragic? I'm thinking that after what I've put these two through, a happy ending might be justified, but I'm still not sure... but i promise you I WILL FIX THINGS BETWEEN MEG AND ERIK!

one more thing: yep... i did give a lil' nod to POTC in the last chappie! brownie points to those who got it!

* * *

The next morning when Erik woke up, he knew something had happened. Or was going to happen. He didn't know what it was, but he could sense it. He dressed, and prepared to ascend into the Opera House.

When he emerged from the dressing room, he immediately felt that something wasn't right.

He felt the presence of someone else... and it disconcerted him. He became immediately belligerent, glad that he had brought the Punjab lasso with him. He opened the dressing room door cautiously. There was no one in the hall, so he moved off down the corridor, turning left, right, right again and up a flight of stairs until he came to a strategically placed trapdoor, which was hidden so that no one but it's creator would ever know how to access it. Erik slipped into it, pulling it shut behind him. He started down the tunnel, heading toward the main theatre. The tunnel began to slope upward, depositing the Phantom outside of Box 5. He swept through the red velvet curtain, which had accumulated dust in its disuse. It was then that he heard the voices. Cautiously, he moved to the edge of Box 5, taking care to remain in the shadows.

"-bloody disaster after the chandelier crash," came a man's voice, British by the sound of it.

"_Oui,_" came a Frenchman's voice. "That was a terrible night. And see the chandelier is still there."

"Now what of this Opera ghost I've heard of?"

"He is rumored to be dead, Monsieur."

Erik suppressed a laugh. The Opera Ghost? Dead? He would show them...

"Good. I don't want some crack potted old fool wreaking havoc in my Opera."

Erik seethed. _His_ Opera? What right did this pompous Brit have to call the Opera his?

_It belongs to me! _Erik thought through clenched teeth. He was ready to go down and Punjab both of them for trespassing in his domain, when he heard the Frenchman say something that made his heart freeze.

"When do you believe we will be ready to re-open?"

Re-open the Opera.

Erik didn't know what to think about that. Part of him wanted peace, to be left alone, him and his memories, forever. But if the Opera were to reopen... then Meg might come back! he thought suddenly.

He slid the Punjab lasso back into his cloak pocket. Much as he didn't like them, these two men wouldn't die today.

_Yes,_ he thought. The Opera would re-open. Meg would come back, and he would make sure she got a job. He would insist on it.

It was the perfect plan.

He listened intently to the two men.

The British gentleman was babbling on about bringing in work crews sometime the following week.

"-we'll need at least thirty five good men if we want to open in time for the spring season," he said. "And we'll need to hire actors."

"If we can convince them that the Ghost does not exist," commented the Frenchman. The way he mentioned the ghost reminded Erik of Poligny, a former manager who had been quite good about meeting his demands.

"Yes, well..." said the British man. "I really believe there's no need to worry about a ghost, Pierre."  
"But he did terrible things, Richard," said the Frenchman, Pierre. "Like that stagehand. Andre and Firmin warned me about it, before we closed the deal, if reluctantly so. He was murdered, and he says it was the Opera Ghost who did it."

"Well- believe the fairy stories if you must," Richard said mildly. "But I don't believe there is an Opera Ghost, or that there ever was one. Now let's get out of here, my friend. I could do with a large brandy... what say you?"

Their footsteps and voices faded away as they exited the theatre.

Well, thought Erik when they had gone. That was an interesting turn of events.

He made his way back to the labyrinth.

Alone again, he began to think excitedly about the return of the Opera, but mostly about Meg returning.

He thought about going to see her, to make sure that she was all right, but decided against it. If he went... someone might not make it out of the confrontation alive. He seethed with rage when he thought of someone else with Meg, taking from her what Erik wanted...

He jerked himself back to life.

It was true. He knew it was true. He was becoming possessive again- the same thing that had happened to him with Christine was now happening with Meg.

_God- please don't let the past repeat itself_, he prayed to the god who he himself had little faith in.

He wouldn't go looking for Meg tonight. They needed distance between them; maybe then he would be able to control his feelings. But as the night passed, Erik could think of nothing but Meg. Her memory burned his mind and wouldn't let his heart rest.

He wanted her- he wanted her to be his, forever.

He would love her... he would take care of her.

It all sounds great in theory, doesn't it? he thought. But would you actually have the courage to admit all that to her? And do you really think she'd believe you? You know you're afraid... you're afraid to love her. You've never loved anyone before...

_'I loved Christine,'_ he argued.

_Yes. But that love turned to obsession too quickly. If that happens again, you're both doomed. You and Meg._

That, he knew, was true also. He couldn't let his feelings for Meg turn into obsession like they had done with Christine.

Or were they already obsession? he wondered. Quite possibly they were, and he was just living in denial. Still, there was something innocent about his feelings for Meg- they were less intense than he had felt for Christine. Less intense, but equally strong.

He sighed.

He couldn't wait here like this. He didn't want Meg to suffer out there on the streets. Tomorrow, he resolved, he would find Meg and bring her back.

* * *

The job proved to be more difficult than he had planned.

He waited outside the house for Meg to come out as she had done before, but as the minutes slipped by, he realized that he must have come too late. Night had now fully descended, and there was no sign of Meg.

No matter, he thought. He was ready and willing to check every bar, every alley way, every street corner in Paris until he found her.

But as the night lengthened, he began to worry. If the sun were to rise, he would have to return to the Opera.

It was long past midnight when he came to rest above a bar in the slums.

He stared off into space, catching his breath before he realized what he was seeing. The door to the place had opened, and a woman had come out, wearing a raunchy black lacy gown.

She stumbled out into the darkness of the alley, looking as though she were about to faint.

The woman was, unmistakably, Meg Giry.

Erik's heart skipped a beat when he saw her. He looked around for a way to climb down, when he saw someone come out behind her; a tall man who looked as though he'd had too much to drink.

"Where you goin' lassie?" he growled at Meg, who turned to face him. She met his eyes fearfully.

"Stay away from me," she said, but her voice shook.

"I'll stay away from you, whore," he said. "Once I've got what I want from you. . ."

He struck Meg across the face, a tremendous, solid blow that knocked her back. Her head connected with something hard, and the world began to spin.

She heard his heavy footsteps, and recoiled.

She felt her consciousness slipping away. Before slipping into darkness, she choked out one prayer:

_"Erik..."_

Something crashed in the alley.

Afraid that someone would see him, the man turned and fled, leaving the alley deserted. Out of the shadows Erik came, black cloak swishing softly. He walked over to where Meg was laying, and he lifted her up gently.

When she felt someone's hands on her, Meg seemed to snap back to life, though he noticed a blankness in her eyes that told him that she was not herself. She began to kick and struggle against him, but he held her firmly and backed her into the wall so she wouldn't hurt herself.

"Meg!" he said loudly, trying to make her listen. "It's me!"

She shook her head, thrashing around in his grasp. "No- no- stay away from me! _Leave me alone!_" she cried out. Her head jerked violently from side to side. He took her chin in his hand, and held her still. He put his face very close to hers.

"Meg!" he said. "It's all right. It's me- it's Erik."

A flicker of recognition passed over her face.

"_Erik..."_ she breathed, before collapsing in his arms, unconscious.

Erik held her body close, thanking God that he had found her when he did.

"It's all right, Meg," he whispered into her hair, even though he knew she couldn't hear. "You're safe now."

He lifted her gently in his arms, so that he was cradling her unconscious form against him. Then, he started off down the alleys, toward the Opera house. All the while, he was worried that someone would see, but there were few people out at this hour, and those who were out were too drunk to care. Once safely inside the shelter of the Opera House, Erik carried Meg down to the lair. She weighed next to nothing, so this was a fairly easy task.

After they had crossed the lake, he carried her into her bedroom. When she was in bed, he knelt down beside her and just looked at her face. Blonde hair framed the thin cheekbones, the lips that were red from the lipstick that she had been wearing. Her eyelids were lined with black kohl, giving the rest of her face a rather skeletal appearance. But she was still beautiful, Erik thought. His hand reached out to stroke her cheek gently.

When she woke up, he would ask her to stay, admit that he had been a fool for making her leave in the first place.

He was prepared to stay right there until she opened her eyes.

* * *

A/N: three cheers and let's party! They are back together, FINALLY! does anyone else feel like doing the "they're back together happy dance" with me? Yep yep... see- I told you things would work out for these two... but this story is still far from being over. There will be other challenges to face, which are forthcoming.

Also, i feel like i need to say this: My take on Meg's being involved in that business was kind of to show how our pride and desperation can sometimes drive us to do foolish things that we will later regret; it's a basic human weakness. I mean, when you think about all the teenagers who find themselves on the streets or in jail today it's not hard to understand. But the moral is this: no matter how far you sink into life's hole, you can recover with the help of love and time. and also, as several of my reviewers have pointed out, this is fairly historically correct. Lots of young women did get in to this line of work back then... gruesome as it is. But understand that i am not trying to destroy the dignity of these characters in any way. I am trying to show that at the end of the day, they are still humans.

And i've done enough harping for today, methinks! so thanks to all of you guys who are still reading this... means a lot.

and now, review!

and if you feel the need to flame, well. . . go for it.


	34. Motives

Chapter 33- Motives

A/N: yay- the Orli's here with another chappie! ..:does an encore presentation of the 'Meg and Erik back together Happy Dance:..

And now, I have some messages for some of you! so everyone else can just skip down to the chapter, if that floats your boat!

**sbkar**- i forgot to mention this in my last note, but thank you so much for your positive review. It came right after i received some less-than happy comments, so it made me smile! I was so happy that someone else understood where i was coming from with that, so that kind of made my day! and I am glad that you like it; please keep reading and send me your constructive criticism!

**Vegman529**- lol you make me laugh, my friend. While I don't think murdering anyone is necessary, thanks for the offer:P Tell you what, if I'm ever feeling particularly pissed, me and my rocket launcher will give you and your rocket launcher a call! (lol)

**Lady Yuy**- thanks for your review, and i don't believe that you flamed me at all! I think that yours was actually one of the nicer reviews that I got. So keep reading and keep reviewing, k!

**Eilianu**- thanks so much! your review made me get this big smile on my face. i'm so gald you like it, and you like this chappie too!

To all else who joined me in my little happy dance, your reviews made me crack up! and reviews keep me going! So click the blue button people!

* * *

Meg woke up hours later, shaken from a nightmare. 

She looked around the room, wide-eyed and afraid. She was back in her bedroom in Erik's house; as if she had fallen asleep a few weeks before and was just now waking up from the horrible nightmare that she had lived through on the streets. She wanted to pinch herself, to make sure that she wasn't hallucinating. But there was Erik, sitting beside her, looking at her with his intense green eyes, hidden behind his half-mask.

"What happened?" she asked dazedly.

"Don't worry about what happened," he said. "You're safe now, Meg."

"Did I- the alley- oh god," she said suddenly. "Where did you find me?" she asked, petrified as her mind replayed the previous night in the alley. She didn't think she would be able to stand it if Erik had seen her being... used.

"Nothing happened," he said.

Meg exhaled in relief.

Erik let himself stare at her, long and hard. Her face looked drawn and tired. She looked older, as though the month or so since they'd escaped had really caused her to age ten years.

"Meg," he said. "I'm so sorry..."

"Shhh," she whispered. "Don't talk like it was your fault."

Erik swallowed. "Why did you do that to yourself, Meg?" he asked.

"What?" she asked fearfully. He couldn't know. . . how would he have found out?

"Selling yourself."

Meg squeezed her eyes shut. He knew. He knew everything. "You weren't supposed to see," she whispered. "Please," she begged him. "Let's not talk about this now. I can't do it... not now."

"Meg-"

"Please!" she said sharply, voice shaking out of pain and anguish. "Let me be alone for awhile," she said. She saw Erik's face fall, and regretted her words. She hadn't meant them to be as harsh as they had sounded, she had just needed time alone, time to think, time to sort all of her emotions out.

He stood up. "Fine," he said, sounding tired and defeated. "If you need anything, you know where to find me."

And without another word, he swept out of her room.

Silent tears began to run down Meg's cheeks as soon as the door clicked shut. _What have I done?_ she asked herself, memories all coming back to her at once. _How did I let it come to this? _

She closed her eyes again. It hurt so badly- the pain of knowing that things were damaged so badly now that she couldn't change them; that she would have to live with the consequences.

_If only I could go back_, Meg thought. _If only I could go back and change things._

She felt as though she had stabbed a friend in the back, and that friend was herself. Why had she been so stupid? She asked herself. Had there really been no other way? Could she not have swallowed her pride- her foolish, stupid pride? If she had, things wouldn't be so complicated now.

What did Erik think of her?

The thought of him knowing made it all hurt ten times worse.

She loved him. . . and yet she had gone and given herself away to other men. He probably would think her as nothing more than a whore now- damaged goods.

She had to tell him.

She had to tell him now.

If she didn't, she doubted she would ever have the courage to do it. She slid out of bed, feeling broken and desperate, much like she had been in the alley.

She walked noiselessly into the main room.

Erik was sitting at the organ, looking just as lost and confused as she was. Meg's heart began to pound- this was it: would he forgive her?

He glanced up and their eyes locked.

An unexplainable emotion seemed to be radiating from each of them as they faced one another, more uncertain than they had ever been before.

Everything had changed, Erik thought, everything and nothing at the same time.

Neither of them spoke for the longest time.

It seemed as though everything else in the world had fallen away, leaving only he and Meg. This was the defining moment, he thought. This was the point of no returning- the point where all lies and all deception were put aside and they were standing before each other stripped of their defenses, and stained with their own sins. Meg's eyes found themselves welling up with tears.

"Why, Meg?" he asked.

Meg bowed her head. "I had nowhere else to go. . . I had nothing left to my name," she said, almost inaudibly.

"Nothing?" he asked. "You had your dignity, at least," he said. He looked as though searching for the right words. "Why did you. . . how could you even _think_ of doing-"

Meg was pale, and her voice shook, but she didn't cry. "I had nowhere to go," she said again. "I didn't know what to do. . . I was living on the streets. . . I had no money, and I had to steal to survive. And it was all because you turned me away!" she hissed, suddenly malicious.

"Don't accuse me!" Erik said.

"Why not!" Meg exploded. "You forced me into that life! You forced me to leave! I wanted to stay here, with you. But no, Erik. You _abandoned_ me to live that life!"

The words cut to Erik's heart, but what cut him worse was the sinking knowledge that they were true.  
Meg was right. This was all his doing.

His mental resistance began to break down. He couldn't stand knowing that had he not been such an idiot, Meg wouldn't have sold herself.

"But you weren't the only one who suffered, damn it!" He heard himself say loudly, more loudly than he had intended. Meg saw him suddenly look as though he hadn't meant to say it.

"What do you mean?" she asked quietly.

"I mean," he said, anger, passion and sorrow all smoldering inside of him. "I mean that once you left, I couldn't stop thinking about you. You were in my head, in my songs. . . tormenting me like the vixen that you are! You tortured me with your memory, Meg, and it was torture of the worst kind!"

"It was hard on me too, Erik!" she said angrily. "To know that you had pushed me away, but that you were still there! You were all I could think of- you. . . you haunted my dreams! I couldn't get you out of my head, especially when. . . when every other man's face turned into yours! How every time. . . I wished it were you-" Meg stopped abruptly, taking on the same look Erik had had a moment ago; the look of admitting something that was supposed to have been kept silent.

"What did you say?" he whispered, taking a step closer, eyes disbelieving.

Meg stepped back. "You heard me," she said, looking uncomfortable. "You speak of torture. So do I. The torture of knowing that I could wish all I wanted, but it wouldn't bring you back." A sob was wrenched from her suddenly, and her words failed.

A wave of compassion and forgiveness rushed over Erik suddenly. He stepped forward and gathered Meg into his arms. "I'm sorry," he whispered over and over as she cried. As he held Meg's thin, vulnerable body, Erik felt as though a great weight had been lifted. Everything they had done, while it could never be erased, was in the past now.

Meg cried for the better part of an hour, before finally letting go of Erik and stepping away, eyes looking red and swollen. There was another awkward moment of uncertainty, before Meg said, "I meant what I said," she said shakily. "But I just- I just don't know if I can. . ." she trailed off, courage failing. She wanted to tell him that she loved him, but after everything that had happened, she found herself afraid still. Especially after her experience on the streets. Over the past few weeks, Meg had began to wonder whether love really existed or not. "I messed up so badly. . . the feelings are just too much to handle, and I-"

Erik put a finger to his lips and shook his head. "Don't worry," he said. "You need to rest." The words felt like a death sentence; a small part of him wanted to shake Meg until she told him everything- everything she felt about him. But he knew he couldn't make her- not when she was this distressed.

Meg nodded, and he dropped his hand. There was a fleeting moment of disappointment, but then his hand found hers, and he led her back to her bedroom. "You need to rest," he repeated.

Meg climbed into bed. Erik stood beside her, not wanting to leave, but afraid she wouldn't want him to stay.

"What happens now, Erik?" she asked suddenly.

"You will stay here," he said in a firm but gentle voice.

"Should I believe you this time?" she asked wearily.

"Yes." He bent down on his knees so that he was at her eye-level. "They're going to re-open the Opera," he said softly.

Meg's face seemed to light up. "That's wonderful!" she said.

"You'll be able to have a job," he said. "I'll see to it that you become a great dancer, Meg."

Her expression of joy faded a little. "You won't kill anyone, will you?" she asked timidly. "Please don't take anyone's life for my sake, Erik. Please promise me that."

"Very well," Erik said, standing up again. With one last look at her, he left Meg alone, to drift off to a finally peaceful sleep.

* * *

A/N: ...:gets out Kleenex tissues:... anyone else need a tissue? that was pretty sobby. okay... little boring, little fluffy, but hey. I needed a go-between. Suggestions on what should happen next? Like when they should finally just say 'I love you' for crying out loud? Seriously, speak to me, cause i kind of know where I'm going, but the rest of my plotline could really use some fine tuning. also- lemme know if you think i should just keep writing like the crazed maniac that i am, or if i should just tie it up with a nice little ending sometime in the near future. I would like to continue, but i want to hear your thoughts. so review, por favor! 

also: this is kind of a random thing, but i'm working on an original fiction story at the moment, and am in desperate need of a guy's name. the character type is dark and mysterious and altogether a bit creepy (kind of phantom-esque). . . so does anyone have any good guy names they could lend me? just wondering. i know, i'm weird. :)


	35. A Letter

Chapter 34- A Letter

A/N: this chapter is kind of slow. . . kind of a go-between transition chapter. yep- the opera's back. . . wonder what Erik's going to be getting into. . . . I know it is slow, but PLEEZ bear with me! Read my A/N at the end if you don't believe me! I will try to post the next update soon!

* * *

The work crews were in the Opera a few days later, beginning restoration work on the theatre. Scaffolding was erected all throughout the spacious auditorium, and the sound of hammer and saw could be heard all morning long.

It was around noon when one of the workers found the note, sitting on the ledge of one of the balconies. It was a thin parchment envelope, sealed with a skeleton stamp, the color of what looked to be blood.

Frightened, the worker took the letter with a shaking hand to the managers.

The men who had bought the opera were rich acquaintances, one of whom was French, the other British.

When the letter was presented, the Frenchman, a man by the name of Pierre de Villier paled, fingers shaking as he pulled open the envelope, and read aloud:

_"My dear Monsieurs,_

_I congratulate you on your purchase of this Opera House. _

_Perhaps you have heard of me, from certain former managers who did not heed my wished closely enough. If they have told you anything, you will know that my wishes are to be followed, or a disaster beyond you wildest imaginations will consequently take place. I warn you, Monsieurs, the chandelier that you see is only a taste of the terror I may unleash if my demands are rejected. _

_But enough threats for the day. I assure you that provided that you do what I ask of you, there will be no need for such tragedy. _

_Firstly, my salary of thirty five thousand francs is to be delivered in a sealed envelope to Box Five on the first of each month. _

_Secondly, concerning Box Five- that box is not to be sold for ANY REASON; it is to be reserved for my use. _

_Thirdly, I would suggest that my future input on the casting and production of the operas forthcoming is heeded and acted upon. To begin with, I firmly request that you defer from re-hiring Senora Carlotta Guidicelli, as she is a vulgar toad with no voice and has no business calling herself a singer. Additionally, I have it on good authority that a talented dancer by the name of Meg Giry is interested in a position in the corps de ballet. You would be well advised to hire her- she is talented, and her career will flourish. _

_In closing, my dear managers, know that if my demands are met, the Opera house will flourish and be very profitable for you when it opens. However, if things are not done according to my wishes, you will find that this theatre can be quite a cursed place indeed. _

_Heed my words, good Monsieurs, for the sake of your safety._

_Your Most Humble and Obedient Servant,_

_ -O.G."_

DeVillier finished reading and looked up. Several more of the workers had gathered around.

"Firmin and André were right," he said, with obvious fear in his voice. "The Opera Ghost does exist."

"I refuse to believe it, Pierre," said the British man, Richard Longfellow. "It was probably just one of the workers..." he broke off uncertainly, looking around as if expecting to see a terrible spectre descend down upon.

Then, as if on cue, a cold, malicious laugh rang out in the theatre, the echo making it sound as though it came from everywhere, inside the walls themselves.

"He's here," deVillier whispered.  
Longfellow looked quite unable to come up with an excuse for the laughter, and his face turned, like his colleague's to that of fear.

"Heed my words!" the tremulous voice said, before the laughter died away.

Out of the corner of his eye, Longfellow could have sworn that he saw the red velvet curtain in box five swirl. . .

* * *

In the passage once more, Erik couldn't help but laugh out loud. The poor fools, he thought. He could tell that they would be much easier to manage than André and Firmin had. Still, he might decide to have some fun with them. . . it had been ages since he had had a good laugh. . .

* * *

Meg was waiting for him when he returned to the lair. Since she had returned, their life had fallen back into a simplistic pattern. The topic of Meg's selling herself had yet to arise again; Meg didn't want to talk about it, and Erik knew better than to ask about it. For this, Meg was grateful- she wanted nothing more than to start over, and to have Erik by her side. She was still holding back telling him how she felt. She couldn't explain why. . . she supposed it was out of fear. Not fear of Erik, but fear of what love would mean. From what she had seen on the streets, Meg had come to doubt whether love really existed. She was afraid to love- afraid to be loved.

As the days slid by, Erik found himself growing distracted by Meg's presence. It had been fine for the first few days, but now the knowledge that Meg was so near- in the very next room- began to drive him mad. Many times a day would he have to remember to keep himself in check. He was constantly coming up with different reasons to go up to the theatre, where he would proceed to spend agonizing hours in Box 5, letting his emotions simmer down. Upon regaining his composure, he would return down to Meg.

The Opera was coming along nicely; Erik estimated that it would take only a few more weeks before it could be re-opened. He watched as his theatre slowly began to return to life again. The stage was restored- the thick velvet curtains were cleaned, and the catwalks repaired. The remains of the chandelier had been cleared away, and a new one was being installed. The Paris Opera house now looked just as it had months ago.

Down in the cellars, Meg had begun preparing to dance again. In one of the spare rooms, she practiced every spare moment, stretching herself out, and trying her best to return her body to the form it had once had as a dancer. Dancing now evoked both joy and sadness in her. It had always been her passion; how she described herself as a person. But it also reminded her of Madame Giry. Her mother had used to make Meg practice until her toes bled from standing en pointe, until tears streamed from her eyes from physical pain. And every time, Madame Giry had simply said, "The pain will make you stronger." Sure enough, Meg had risen in rank with the ballet corps- most had expected her to succeed La Sorelli as prima ballerina, before the chandelier had fallen and the Opera had come to a screeching halt.

In her hours of solitude, Meg couldn't help realizing that Erik was avoiding her. He was never in the lair, it seemed; he was always roaming the floors upstairs. Slightly stung by his actions, Meg took this to mean that he wasn't comfortable with her living with him. Thinking about Erik not wanting her made Meg feel empty inside, like there was a hole growing inside her soul- dark and all-consuming, breaking her slowly. She knew that it would only be a matter of time before all reason left her. . . and all of sensibility's restraints snapped.

* * *

A/N: i know this chapter was boring. . . but i think that we will probably hear the 'l' word next chapter. because i think everyone's just about ready for it, ya?

Also in the next chapter: OPERA! Woot!

ALSO: thanks to everybody who responded to my little "name" question. i heard a lot of good suggestions, so thanks to everybody who sent me a reply on that. i still don't really know what i'm going to do, but you guys have helped me out, so muchas gracias! (or thank you if you don't speak spanish!)


	36. Marguerite's Aria

Chapter 35- Marguerite's Aria

A/N: Okay. . . we're time-jumping here. It's been about 4 weeks since Erik rescued Meg from the streets. . . the opera house is nearly done being restored, but casting has not yet begun.

another note: Meg's song in this chapter is from the opera Faust. it's Marguerite's aria 'Ah! je ris de voir'. some of the translation is given in the chapter, but I'll post the whole thing at the bottom too. I also use an aria from Don Giovanni (by Mozart), which is written in Italian, but I'm just going to write the translated words, k?

also: the site aria database is a PHENOMONAL resource, so credit for the translations goes to them!

well, read and review and tell me what you think!

* * *

Another morning came where Meg woke to find that Erik had already left. With a downcasted sigh, she made her way back to the spare room, where she slipped into her pointe shoes. She began her stretches with pliés in all five positions, holding herself tightly in each until her legs shook from effort. After stretching, she let herself begin some old routines that she remembered. In her mind, she could hear the orchestra playing as she twirled around, not even having to think about the steps that she executed flawlessly. When she finally stopped, she was out of breath, and sweating slightly. Brushing the hair out of her face, she fell to her knees on the cold stone floor, letting her mind wander. She found herself humming a song from one of the operas. . . one that she had learned when she had been younger.

Looking around self-consciously, Meg began to sing softly,

_"Ah! je ris de me voir_

_si belle en ce miroir,_

_mirror,_

_Ah! je ris de me voir_

_si belle en ce miroir,_

_miroir,_

_Est-ce toi, Marguerite, est-ce toi?_

_Réponds-moi, réponds-moi,_

_réponds, réponds, réponds vite!"_

Meg rose to her feet, letting her voice intensify, losing its timid edge.

_"Non! Non! ce n'est plus toi!_

_Non. . . non, ce n'est plus ton visage;_

_C'est la fille d'un roi;_

_Ce n'est plus toi. . ._

_Qu'on salut au passage!"_

Completely lost in the song, Meg didn't notice the presence in the doorway. . .

_"Ah s'il était ici!_

_S'il me voyait ainsi!_

_Comme une demoisells_

_Il me trouverait belle_

_Ah, ah!"_ Meg's voice trilled perfectly over the notes, her soprano voice taking wing like a songbird to the sky.

She thought about what the words meant. . .

_Ah, if only he were here!_

_If he should see me thus. . ._

_Like a lady_

_He would find me so beautiful. . _.

Subconsciously, she found herself thinking of Erik. . .

_"Comme une demoiselle,_

_Il me trouverait belle!_

_Achevons la metamorphose,_

_Il me tarde encor d'essayer_

_Le bracelet it le collier!_

_Dieu! c'est comme une main,_

_Qui sur mon bras se pose! Ah! Ah! Ah!"_ Meg took a deep breath to finish the song.

_"Ah! je ris_

_de me voir si belle dans ce miroir!"_

The last note died off slowly, echoing off the walls.

"And I was under the impression that you didn't sing opera," she heard a silky voice say. Meg froze.

Her heart stopped for a moment, then began beating at a pace so rapid that she knew that the workers above them could probably hear its rythmic pulsing.

"And I was under the impression that you were out for the morning," she allowed herself to retort cooly.

He shrugged. "I came back. What- you don't want another soul on this earth to hear you sing?"

Meg remained silent.

"You know," said Erik thoughtfully, "perhaps instead of a dancer. . . perhaps I should secure you a more. . . vocal part. You could be great, you know. . ."

"No!" said Meg sharply. "I- I won't be Christine, Erik."

Pushing past him, Meg left the room.

He heard her go into her room and slam the door. He swore at himself under his breath. That hadn't been his intent. . . he thought angrily. Meg's voice really was beautiful- granted not as good as Christine's had been- and he had been captivated by her song. She had entranced him, made him listen as though she were singing right to him.

_If only he were here_

_If he should see me thus_

_Like a lady_

_He would find me so beautiful_

_Like a lady_

_He would find me beautiful. . ._

Erik sighed. He had to lure Meg out of her room, but words alone wouldn't be enough. An idea came to his mind. . .

* * *

A short while later, Meg heard music. She opened her door to the sound of organ. Meg paused outside her door. Should she go? Her mind cautioned her, but then she heard Erik begin to sing, and obeying her mind became the last thing on earth she wanted to do.

His words called to her, beckoned her to him.

_"Oh come to the window, beloved;_

_Oh come and dispel all my sorrow. . ."_

Meg began down the hall, toward the sound that was so pure and seductive that she was sure no mortal on the planet could resist. . .

_"If you refuse me some solace,_

_before your dear eyes I will die. . ."_

Meg had come to the end of the hall, and the voice wrapped around her and pulled her inside. She saw Erik sitting at the organ, absorbed in the song.

_"Your lips are sweeter than honey,_

_Your heart is sweetness itself. . ."_

Erik's head turned toward Meg suddenly- his blazing green eyes held hers as his voice softened to sing the last lines.

_"Then be not cruel, my angel,_

_I beg for one glance, my beloved. . ."_

The song ebbed off into a tremendous silence which filled the cave like a ghostly presence that made Meg's heart tremble.

Erik's eyes were still boring into hers.

"Stop," she said.

"Stop what?"  
"Stop looking at me like that," she said.

Erik stood up, his movements slow and deliberate. "Why?" he asked, standing very close to her.

"Because I. . . . .. because you-" Meg stumbled, unable to say what she was thinking. She wasn't even sure what she was thinking.

_Because you're going to make me lose my mind? she thought. Because you are testing my willpower with those damnable eyes of yours? Because at any moment, I just might drown in the sea of your voice? Choose a reason, Erik- there are hundreds!_

Erik's bare hand reached up to rest on Meg's cheek.

Her knees went weak beneath her- she was going to melt right into the floor, she thought. There was a warm, tingling sensation passing through her body; something that made her feel. . . every emotion that was possible to feel.

"What, Meg?" Erik asked, voice low and smooth, as though he were trying to coax the truth from her. "You feel something. . . I know you do. You told me not to ask you. . . but I've waited, Meg. It's been weeks since you came back, and every day your words have tormented my mind with questions. I want the truth, Meg- nothing more."

The truth.

The words rang in her ears.

"The truth. . ." she repeated softly. "The truth. . . is what I have been trying to deny to myself for a long time now," she said. "I- I love you, Erik," she admitted in a whisper, dropping her eyes, not wanting to look at him. How would he react? she wondered immediately after the words left her lips. She felt him turn her chin up so that eye contact was unavoidable. Trembling with fear and apprehension, Meg let their eyes meet. Erik's look was the most loving, selfless expression she had seen in all her life.

He was looking at her as though she were a priceless jewel, worth more than the world to him.

"Say it again," he whispered.

"I love you, Erik," Meg repeated, looking straight into his eyes.

He took her face gently in his hands. "And I love you, Marguerite Giry," he whispered, before leaning down to kiss her.

"Wait," Meg said, before his lips touched hers. She reached up to untie his mask.

She felt him make to jerk away, but grabbed him by the arm. "Trust me," she said, though she waited for his signal to proceed. His green eyes seemed to surrender to her, and he nodded shortly. Her trembling fingers undid the black silk ribbon, and the mask fell away, hitting the floor with a deft noise. Erik winced as she touched his marred flesh.

"I'm sorry," said Meg, drawing her hand back. "Did that. . . did that hurt?"

He shook his head. "No. It's just that no one ever. . ."

"I know," she said. She kissed his scarred cheek lovingly, before claiming his lips in the kiss that both of them had been waiting an eternity for. . .

* * *

A/N: well, like it or hate it, people- i want to know! so review for me!

Translation of Magruerite's Aria:

Ah, I laugh to see myself so beautiful in this mirror

Ah, I laught to see myself so beautiful in this mirror,

Is it you, Marguerite, it is you?

Answer me, answer me,

Respond, respond, respond quickly!

No, No! It's no longer you!

No... no, it's no longer your face;

It's the daughter of a kind,

It's no longer you. . .

One must bow to her as she passes!

Ah, if only he were here!

If he should see me thus

Like a lady

He would find me so beautiful,

Like a lady he would find me beautiful!

Lets complete the metamorphosis,

I am late yet in trying on

The bracelet and the necklace!

God! it's like a hand

Which is placed on my arm!

Ah, I laugh to see myself so beautiful in this mirror!


	37. Healing

Chapter 36- Healing

A/N: hey to all! So sorry about the delay in my updating! I've been working a lot on some other stuff lately, and then I sadly descended into the hell of writer's block, but I think I'm over it, for the moment. And then, I was all ready to update yesterday, but wouldn't let me log on. Grrrrrrrr. But here I am, with another chapter.

And guess what? This is going to be a fluffy chapter! Because I think you'll agree with me that these two have earned a little fluff time, right? So you all must review for me! And tell me what you think!

Vegman529- no way was that the last chapter! (i mean obviously, because here i am updating. nope, i will tell you when the story is over. k?)

I love you all! (heh- you know what i mean)

* * *

A kiss was a strange thing, thought Meg half-coherently. It became its own little world, filled with strange new things and feelings. It was a black hole; an ocean, turbulent and calm at the same time, waiting to drown her in its waters. It was fire, it was damnation, it was redemption of the purest kind- Meg felt it all as she melted in Erik's arms.

When they finally separated, both were breathing hard. A moment of silence passed between them, as they looked into each other's eyes, each staring into the other's soul.

Meg looked at Erik's scarred face. What a crime, she thought, that he had been born that way. What kind of god would create someone with such a beautiful soul, yet leave him stricken with such a horrible face? But his eyes. . . One look into his eyes, and Meg saw no monster before her. There was emotion in the deep emerald eyes- emotions that she knew were impossible for a monster to have. The man before her loved herloved her so much that his whole body was trembling with desire.

"Should we-" Meg began, but Erik held a finger to her lips.

"Shhhh," he said. "Don't think. . ."

He kissed her again, holding her face in his hands. She was his, he thought. She would be his forever, if he asked it of her. He felt Meg submitting to him, surrendering to the feelings that she had fought for so long. They finally defeated her, here in this passionate embrace. She knew what Erik wanted. . . in each kiss she felt the urge to go farther, to fall farther and farther down.

Suddenly, Meg found herself terrified. The horrible experiences of her life on the street were coming back to haunt her.

"Erik," she whispered throatily. "Erik. . . I can't. . ."

He stopped, pulling a few inches away, his disfigured face looking concerned. "What is it?" he asked. Self-consciously, he reached up to cover his face.

Meg cursed the tears that began to form in her eyes. "I. . . I just. . ." she stumbled. "I can't. . . the pain. . ." She trailed off.

"Meg," Erik said, sounding very concerned. He tilted her chin up so that her eyes met his. He searched her face for a sign. . . "Did I hurt you?" he asked, and looked so afraid at the thought that Meg's tears almost spilled over.

"No," she whispered. "I'm just afraid that after everything. . . that I did. . . that. . ." she took a deep breath, "-that I won't be good enough for you."

Erik looked horrified. "Never say that," he whispered. "Never, ever say that, Meg." Another kiss followed, though it was short and sweet. It was as though Erik knew that things wouldn't go any farther tonight. . . and Meg felt his disappointment, though she knew that he had been trying so hard to hide it. . .

* * *

Erik retreated to his room soon after.

He sat in the silence, thinking. _She loves me_, he thought. _She said it herself. . . the holy words came from her lips. She loves me. . . and I love her. _

There was such perfection. . . but still such heartache.

As he sat alone, he found himself shaking from the sorrow of knowing why he wasn't with Meg right now. Really, he knew, it was the effect of his own stupidity. He regretted- now more than ever- sending Meg away from the lair after she had returned. To hear her fearfully resist him shattered his heart into a million tiny pieces, that lay bleeding on the cold stone floor.

But he would wait, he resolved. He would wait until Meg was ready, he would help her heal the wounds that still bled.

* * *

Later that night, Erik was still awake, unable to find rest when he heard a strangled cry- a sob that sounded as though it were trying hard to be held in. He was on his feet in an instant, moving quickly down the hall to Meg's room.

It was very dark, but his eyes were well adapted to the lack of light. He saw Meg sitting up in bed, looking shaken.

"Meg?"

Her head turned to the sound of his voice.

"Erik-" she gasped. "Did I wake you? I- I'm sorry- I had a nightmare."

He stepped closer, walking over to the edge of the bed.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

She nodded deftly, though there was still a wild look of fear in her eyes.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, and placed a hand on her shoulder. He felt her shake as she tried to hold in her emotion.

"Let your sorrow out, Meg," he said. "Keeping it inside will only drive you to destruction."

There was a moment of silence, and then Meg's arms encircled his neck as she began to sob.

"Erik," Meg breathed into his neck. "Don't leave me. . . please don't leave me. . ."

"I'm not going anywhere, Meg," he said lightly.

But she clung to him even more tightly.

"Meg," he said, trying to make her look at him. "Why would I leave you?"

She shook her head, refusing to meet his eyes.

"What did you dream?" he asked.

Meg shook her head again. "Just stay with me- please. I don't want to be alone."

"I'm not going anywhere," he said again, to assure her.

She seemed to calm down, and a few moments later she was asleep in his arms. He shifted slightly on the bed, reclining so that she was laying against him. Minutes lapsed into hours, and before he knew it, Erik too found himself passing off into sleep.

* * *

Meg woke again sometime in the early hours of the morning. With a jolt, she remembered her nightmare and panicked until she felt Erik's body beside her. He was breathing softly, sound asleep. With the assurance that he was by her side, Meg relaxed. Her dream had been horrible. . . Erik had been taken from her and had been thrown into a cage. . . a jail. . . a prison. The feelings that the nightmare had conjured up had been awful- Meg had never felt such pain in her life; the pain of being ripped away from Erik- seeing him taken away from her.

Meg shivered. It isn't true, she thought, reaching out to touch Erik's face as if to reassure herself of this. He was here. . . he would always be here. She smiled as she watched him sleeping. His face- totally unmasked- looked peaceful in its state of rest. It was funny, she thought, to think that a few months ago, the Phantom of the Opera had been the object of horror stories told by the ballet rats. . . and now here he was, lying next to her;as someone she loved and couldn't live without.

His eyes fluttered open suddenly.

Meg couldn't suppress her smile.

"What?" he asked, seeing her expression.

"You," she said. "I was just thinking of how we all used to be frightened of the Phantom of the Opera. We'd tell stories for hours about you. . . Now though, I don't know what I was afraid of," she said.

"Let's hope others don't come to your discovery," he growled. "Or I could be out of a job."

Meg laughed. "They will not," she said. "The myth still lives on in the Opera House today. I think the new managers still fear you."

Erik gave a satisfied grin.

There was a silence, before he asked, "Are you going to tell me what you dreamt about last night that had you so distressed?"

Meg's face fell as the light died from her eyes.

"Only that it was something that I pray never happens," she whispered.

There was a look in her eye that told Erik that had been more that a simple nightmare, but Meg remained tight-lipped, leaving him to only wonder.

* * *

A/N: hmmmmm. Now meg's having weird dreams. Do they mean anything? Review and you might find out!

And these two finally got some fluff! (Rue Marie- if you don't like it, i fully understand! But stay with it, cause i think you will like the ending. But i won't say anything else there.)

**Daroga Daae**- hey- I haven't been able to e-mail you, because my e-mail is refusing to send messages out, so I don't know if I'll be able to send you my story. But by all means, point out any flaws that you find in the text, and I'll go back and edit. Thanks for your input! I luv it! and I hope you like this chapter!


	38. Faust Again

Chapter 37- Faust Again

A/N: Erik might seem a little. . . well. . . angry in the beginning of this chapter, but go with me on it, k? trust me, its all part of The Plan. :)

* * *

A few days later, Meg came bounding down into the labyrinth, having been above in the theatre.

"Erik!" she said excitedly, "they've chosen a new opera!"

Erik had been sitting at his organ, and looked as though he were disturbed by her sudden interruption. He overlooked it, however, and smiled for Meg.

"Wonderful," he said. "Which?"

"_Faust_," Meg responded.

Erik gave a slight, half-nod of what Meg hoped was approval. "When did you find that out?" he asked.

"Just now. I went up for awhile. . . just to see how it's coming. I asked about work in the ballet corps, and they told me of the opera."

"You will audition, won't you? For _Faust_, I mean," he said, though Meg knew that it wasn't a question.

Still, Meg didn't look about to affirm it.

Erik raised an eyebrow.

"There are dancing parts," she said pointedly.

"But you could _sing_," he responded.

"Erik, my voice is no good. I cannot even compare to any of the singers that the managers have already secured- and they aren't even playing the leads!"

"You can," he said, "if you would let me teach you."

"But it will take months!" she argued. "You can't expect me to have learned by the time auditions come."

"That depends on how badly you want the part," he said coolly, a challenge in his voice.

"Don't do this again, Erik," Meg hissed. "We both know what this is about."

"We do?" Erik said sarcastically. "Do enlighten me, Meg- this seems to be a one-sided ploy."

"You aren't over Christine yet." Meg spat the words out like they tasted horrid. "Are you?" she pressed on. "That's why you're so intent on my success. You still want to have your little prima donna, to put her on display before all of Paris, only to snatch her away and gloat over "your creation" or "your triumph"!"

A spasm of anger passed over Erik's face. His green eyes lost all light of kindness that they had had moments before. He now looked menacing as he put his face very close to Meg's, saying in a voice so low that it was almost deadly, "Don't presume to think that those are my motives. Did it ever cross that addle mind of yours that I may actually care for _your_ success- _your_ triumph?" He stepped back, putting more distance between them. "If you ask me," he said. "It is not I that refuses to let Christine's memory die. It's you."

Meg's eyes widened in disbelief. "What do you mean by that?" she asked angrily.

"I think that you are afraid of not living in her shadow. . . I think that you know that now that Christine is gone, there's no one for you to be second to. Her spotlight would fall on you, Meg, if you would let it."

Meg shook her head. "I don't want it. Any of it."

"I think you do."

"You don't know me."

Erik laughed. "I don't know you? Pray tell, then, who does? If I- who you claim to love, by the way- doesn't know you, then who on this earth could possibly give me better insight?"

"Erik- please," said Meg wearily. "I do not want to fight you."

Erik looked as though ready to offer a rebuttal, but seemed to decide against it. His eyes lost some of their anger, but there was still a distinct look of disappointment.

"Let me teach you, Meg," he implored. He closed the space between them, and reached up a hand to caress her cheek. "You could be great," he whispered. "They would love you. . . you'd have all of Paris watch your triumph. . ." his seductive words filled Meg's head, clouding her resolve. She closed her eyes lazily, leaning into Erik's touch.

"Together, Meg," he whispered, "the two of us, together, can be great. You can be my voice. . . my music can be born again. . ."

Meg opened her eyes. She was beginning to sense something else in Erik's words- something that went deeper than just selfish desire. There was longing, a desperate longing in his voice.

"Help me make my music again, Meg," he said, in that same low voice that sounded as if her rejection would kill him completely.

The anger was now completely gone- he stood before her now as who he truly was: a broken genius, trying to see his work rise to glory once more. Meg couldn't deny him.

"I'll try, Erik," she said finally, with a sigh.

He shook his head. "No," he said. "You will not try. You will do. You won't fail me." She would have thought the words harsh, had he not kissed her forehead lightly and finished, "I know you, Meg. You will succeed."

Meg nodded. "I will," she said.

He took both of her hands. "Thank you," he whispered.

"When do we start?" Meg asked uncertainly.

"Today- now," said Erik.

He swept over to the organ, and Meg followed.

Erik pressed his fingers lovingly to the organ keys, and the music began.

* * *

Nearly four hours later, they were both still in the same places; Erik at the organ, Meg standing beside him. The only difference was the tired, distracted looks on their faces. Meg had made some progress, but Erik knew that her voice didn't compare to Christine Daae's.

No matter, he thought. He would make her voice be great.

Meg, however, wasn't optimistic.

"I'll never be able to do this, Erik," she said irritably.

"You are holding back," he snapped back. "I know that you can do it. If I had doubted your abilities, I would not have begged you to help me."

"Holding back?" Meg burst out exasperatedly.

"Your voice lacks the emotion. That fine thread of gold-spun emotion that separates a good voice from an extraordinary one."

Meg raised her eyebrow, and Erik went on, though he seemed to slip into some sort of trance as he did so. "Different emotions will shine through in song. Christine's song was innocent. . . naive. When she sang to me from her dressing room. . . when she still thought me her angel, there was such a blissful innocence in her voice," he reached out his hand a little, as if trying to touch an invisible figure. "She did not know then that what she thought was all a lie. . ."

Meg put down her sheet music with a sigh. "I've told you all ready that I won't be Christine," she said tersely.

"And I am not asking you to be," Erik responded levelly.

"No more today," she said, frustrated.

He nodded. "Very well. Rest your voice."

Meg turned away and left the room.

Alone on her bed, Meg felt hurt and disappointed in herself. Her voice would never be enough for Erik. . . she would never be a prima donna like he wanted her to be. _He wants another Christine,_ she thought. _Someone who will take his work, his teaching and turn it into something fabulous. Not a ballet rat like me._

Her conscience offered a rebuttal to this. _But he loves _you.

Meg couldn't disagree.

But she wondered if the it wasn't all becoming too much for the both of them to handle. When, she asked herself, would one of them finally snap? When would they reach the breaking point of restraint? Meg feared the day when that would happen. Feared it, but anticipated it nonetheless. Still, she knew that the pain of memory would be with her for a long time to come. . . if not forever.

She sighed, rolling over to lie on her back, staring aimlessly up at the ceiling. She had been up in the Opera house today- things were finally beginning to look like they had before the fateful performance of Don Juan Triumphant. The casting was a shambles- the new managers were trying to hold auditions for the ballet corps, but from the way things appeared, Meg knew that they were having trouble convincing dancers to return. From what she had found out, Meg had discovered that the first auditions would be held in two day's time. With Erik's influence, Meg knew that she needn't worry about securing a job. She did, however, need to make a decision about singing. Erik wanted her to do it so badly- it seemed his main focus now that she had brought it up.

But she couldn't do it, she thought. She had had no real previous vocal training, aside from being a chorus girl, and what she had picked up by listening to the hours of practice by the other singers. Erik seemed to think that he could make her a star. But she wouldn't soar to greatness like Christine had. And, she thought, she didn't think she could bear to disappoint Erik.

Still, he had such faith in her.

Meg mulled over this until finally, tired and getting nowhere, she fell victim to the clutches of sleep.

* * *

A/N: blah. I didn't really like this chapter. But whatever- I had to do it. there will be more action in the next few coming up! Just needed a little opportunity to place a little more animosity between these two… cause I just love the tension!

Also: I just wanted to say a huge thanks to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! You guys are great! Keep it up!

**Chance**- glad you like my fluff!

**Daroga Daae**- thanks, as always, for you critique! And yeah, I thought they deserved fluff time too!

**Alanna-** …:bows:… wow, glad you liked it, though I'm sorry if it made you cry, lol!

**Sbkar**- Exactly.

**Demonia666**- (love your name) as for your request about having Erik. . . well, he's currently camped out in my closet. . . so you can try to liberate him, but I've secured the place pretty well. Cause he's MINE! Muahahahahahahaha (how I love typing that!)

**Vegman529**- hey- I read your story and I left a short little review- I would have written more, but my sister came in the room and started reading over my shoulder, which is one of my big pet peeves. But update it, and I shall read it!

**Irish Angell** a.k.a. Lady Yuy- Glad you're hooked!

**Rue Marie**- ah, yes. Soda is indeed an evil think! ;) wink! And I will try to make Meg less pansy-ish!

**Merinna**- fear not. . . I shall post again. . . and keep posting until there is nothing left to post (which hopefully won't be for awhile.) also, I read your story Reviller (I hope I spelled that right) and just wanted to say that I LOVE IT! it's brill. I'm not sure if I reviewed it yet, but just know that it is great!

**tasha**- hey, you reviewed my Harry Potter story! made me feel special! i would like to continue that one, but i kinda hit a wall in the idea department. so like, if you have any ideas on how i could get it going again, send 'em my way, k?

Okay. . . my hand is starting to get tired from typing, so to everyone else who reviewed, thanks and I luv ya!


	39. Trapdoors

Chapter 38- Trapdoors

Meg lifted her head the next morning, feeling slightly disoriented. She shook herself, then got out of bed, dressed, and walked out into the main chamber.

Erik was sitting, as usual, at the organ, though he looked as though he were waiting for her.

"I'm going up to the theatre," she announced.

"Very well," he responded. "But don't go through the mirror. It is too dangerous. You could be seen, and then there would be questions. . ."

"How else can I get out?" she asked. "I thought that was the only way."

Erik laughed. "My dear, did you really think that that was the only passage that leads out of the dungeons? There are at least seven others. . . the trouble is finding them."

"You've found them all?"

"Yes. Come with me." Erik took a large candelabra from the organ top. He picked up his black velvet cloak from where it rested on his chair, and swung it over his shoulders. Meg half-expected him to lead her to the boat, but instead, he stepped into the shadows on the far left of the room- an area that Meg really hadn't taken notice of before. As the light hit the stone wall, Meg saw that it was just that- a wall. There was no indication of an opening or a passageway anywhere. But Erik ran his palm along the stone surface confidently, face screwed up in concentration until finally.

"Here. . ." he muttered after a few moments of searching. His outline blocked out part of the wall from Meg's view. She didn't know what he did, but a moment later she heard the sound of rock grinding against rock, as a secret door slid open a few feet along the wall itself.

"Down here," he said.

The hole looked like a large, gaping mouth, ready to swallow Meg whole.

She swallowed. Long, dark tunnels had never exactly been her favorite places to go. She gave Erik a look that clearly said that she was afraid.

"I'll lead you," he said, which she took as some reassurance. She had hoped he would take her hand, but instead he simply stepped into the passage, and she followed him reluctantly. The door shut behind them with a gravelly, grinding noise. Meg's heart skipped a beat.

They were trapped inside now, she thought. She stayed safely right behind Erik as together they walked deeper and deeper into darkness.

Every one of Meg's nerves was on end, ready to react at anything.

A sudden scurrying made her jump, and grab Erik's arm.

"What was that?" she hissed.

"A rat, most likely," Erik said, unperturbed by the presence of such vermin. Meg, however, hated rats above all other things, and didn't loosen her grip on his arm. Erik said nothing, but slowed his step slightly to accommodate to Meg's hold on him.

Finally, he stopped abruptly.

Meg, who had began to mentally zone out, crashed into him, unaware that he had ceased movement.

"Sorry," she mumbled as he turned the masked side of his face to give her a look.

"We're here," he said.

Meg nodded, unconvinced. "Where is here, Erik?"

"This tunnel comes out in the alley behind the Opera. I've used it several times... its usually fairly inconspicuous. Use this one to come back- don't use the mirror."

"But how-"

"I will show you how." He reached out a hand, found a lever, pulled it, and immediately, a small opening shed light into the tunnel.

Helping Meg out, he glanced quickly around to ensure that they were the only ones in the narrow alley.

Sated, he turned to Meg. "Listen," he said. "This is very important. The door back to the lair cannot be opened from the inside. I am giving you three hours to return- and then I will seal off the passageway. I will leave a candle here for you. . . when you come back, remember to walk straight. Do not follow any of the other passages, no matter what."

"Why?" Meg asked skeptically.

"You wouldn't want to find out," he replied darkly.

"Fine," she said. "How do I get into this one?"  
"This one is very simple," said Erik. "Which is one reason why I don't like to keep it open," he added. He pulled Meg's attention to a knot in the wall. "See this knot?" he said. "It's a marker. Directly beneath this knot is a lever. Pull it, and the trapdoor will open. Make sure you pull it shut behind you."

"Right," said Meg, beginning to rethink her decision. "Can't I just see if the mirror-"

"No. But if you are too afraid, I can take you back with me right now."

"I'm not afraid," she said staunchly.

"Very well, then," he said. "Three hours, Meg. No more."

He swept back through the trapdoor, pulling it closed behind him.

It wasn't until he had gone that Meg realized how easy it had been for him to control her. Using the passageway as a means to ensure that she would return to him quickly. . . as though she were his possession... or worse yet, some puppy on its master's leash.

Meg's animosity toward Erik was still as fresh as it had been since the singing lesson. Just as things had been going smoothly between them, she thought, Erik had found a new way to complicate things. Loving the Opera Ghost was proving to be a more daunting task than she had bargained for. Meg knew that she was part of the problem though- her stubbornness did nothing to help the situation at all. Maybe, she thought as she trudged up the front steps to the Opera, maybe she should sing. Maybe she should just do it, and please Erik. She wanted to make him happy. . . she just doubted her own abilities.

Dancers and singers alike had already begun to arrive at the Opera Populaire, in anticipation of the first auditions the next day.

Meg walked into the main theatre to find several girls around her age on the stage, in toe shoes and practice skirts, stretching their long, graceful limbs out. Meg longed to join them, but had forgotten to bring her own shoes. Besides, the dress she wore would hardly be suited for dancing in.

She saw the managers near the front of the theatre, speaking with the old conductor, Reyer. Presently, they left, and the aging conductor stood alone, sheet music in hand. Happy at last to see a familiar face, Meg walked over.

"Monsieur Reyer," she said.

"Mademoiselle Giry," said the conductor, looking surprised. "What an unexpected surprise. No one knew what happened to you after the events of several months ago. How have you been?"

"Fine," Meg responded, though she knew that the answer to that question was far more complicated than "fine".

"And your mother?" he asked. "Will she be returning as ballet mistress? Heaven knows that the new girls could use her teaching. . ."  
The question pierced the air like a sharp knife, as Meg was forced to remember, with a jolt, that Madame Giry was dead.

"My mother passed away, Monsieur," she said, trying to avoid the tears that were threatening her eyes.

Monsieur Reyer looked contrite. "I am sorry, Mademoiselle," he said. "She was a wonderful woman, indeed," he added.

Meg nodded.

"Will you be auditioning?" he asked.

"For the corps de ballet, yes," Meg responded.

"Any plans to sing?" he asked. "I remember you were always one of the better members of the chorus."

Meg shrugged. "I've thought about it," she responded. "But I do not think my voice is good enough."

"You should at least audition. I have seen some of the new young singers so far, and none of them even come close to Miss Daae. . . most of them don't even compare to Carlotta, Lord help us."

Meg couldn't keep from smiling. "Perhaps I will, then," Meg said.

She bid Reyer good day, then set off to see the rest of the opera house. Most of it had been fully restored, and looked almost exactly similar to what it had been just months ago, as if no time had passed. Meg visited the chapel, where she knew that Christine had first heard the "Angel of Music".

When she neared the dressing rooms, she discovered that Erik's apprehension about using the mirror passage was justified. As she passed by, she noticed workers in that section of the building, putting finishing touches on the dressing rooms. Meg knew that it would be too suspicious to attempt using it; if she was seen going in, but never came out, suspicion would arise all too soon. Walking the full length of the Opera House, Meg relived all of her memories, from the time she had been ten years old, ecstatic to finally be starting her career as a ballerina, to the night of the chandelier crash- the last night that she had seen her mother. That night was a blur whenever she thought of it. She could only remember brief images, thoughts, and feelings. And then, from that night of her life on, there was Erik.

Erik.

With a jolt, Meg wondered what time it was. She had lost herself in her reminiscent reveries, and had lost track of time. She would have to run. . . or the passage would be closed.

She hurried out of the Opera house, back into the alley, and through the trapdoor. Before closing it, though, she struck a match and lit the candle, before descending. Once the door shut, Meg felt her stomach churn with the uncomfortable sensation of claustrophobia. She felt completely trapped in the tunnel. _Go straight_, Erik's words sounded in her head. She began to shuffle along, trying to take her mind off of the fact that she was walking through a rat-infested tunnel that who-knew-what could be lurking inside of.

The stagnant air seemed to be still around her- so solid that she had to push her way through it. It closed in around her, stifling her, strangling her.

Meg heard a squeaking coming from somewhere at her feet. A shiver rolled down her spine. The rats, she thought. Something scurried across her foot. With a scream, she began to run, not noticing the scuffling of tiny paws dying off.

Suddenly, she lost her footing, and crashed to the stone floor- hard. With a hiss, the candle was extinguished, and the world went pitch-black.

Fear gripped Meg as she stood up. Completely disoriented, she didn't know which way she had come from, or which direction would lead her back to Erik's home. She stood up, trembling, and began to walk.

After what seemed like five years, she was still walking blindly. It had long since been three hours, she thought. Erik would have closed the passageway off by now. She was trapped down here, she thought. Down here in the dark, cold chamber that felt like death. What if Erik didn't come for her? How long would she be down here- until she died?

Feeling defeated, and tired, she sat down in the middle of the passageway, drawing her knees up to her chin as though she were a five-year-old child. She felt her eyes tearing up, and felt them running down her cheeks. She closed her eyes. . . not sure what she was waiting for. . .

Someone's cold hand reached out and grabbed her by the shoulder. Meg was jerked from her state of unconsciousness, and screamed. Another hand covered her mouth, stifling the sound.

"Meg," Erik's deep voice said. "It's me."

"Thank God," Meg breathed when he removed his hand. "I got lost, and I- I didn't think I would ever get out."

Erik laughed.

Meg scowled, which made him laugh even harder. In the dim light of the candle that he carried, Meg could see his green eyes ablaze with amusement, though not spite.

"You didn't think I'd leave you in here to die, did you?" he asked.

Meg shrugged defensively. "I don't know. We've been at odds with each other since yesterday, so I figured you'd probably let me suffer for awhile."

"That was never my intention, I assure you," he responded.

"Really?"

"Really."

"Prove it."

"Fine." Erik leaned down and kissed her soundly, stealing her breath away as he explored her mouth.

When he lifted his head, he looked into her eyes and asked, "Convinced?"

Meg grinned slyly. "Not quite," she said, suppressing a giggle. As he kissed her a second time, Meg slid her arms up around his neck. The action caused Meg to slip down until she was laying on the floor, with Erik on top of her in what would have been an akward position, had either of them cared.

With each kiss, Erik felt all of the tension that had built up between them release. The feeling was similar to that of free falling from a very high-elevation while being under the influence of some drug. You felt the sensation, but didn't feel the risk. Absorbed in their frenzied passion, the cold, dark tunnel seemed to disappear, morphing instead into a warm, tender oasis that their minds conjured up.

"Meg," he said finally. "We should get out of here."

"Good idea," she said breathlessly.

Neither of them moved for a moment, as they stared into each other's eyes, catching their breath.

Then, Erik helped her up, and taking her hand this time, lead her safely out of the tunnel.

A/N: see, those trapdoors really come in handy ;)

felt like i had to add just a little action to that chapter. Next chapter should be good in the action department, cause there will be AUDITIONS! meaning more singing, more dancing, and more of Erik sending scary threatening notes. and possibly some action for him and meg too? yes? no? maybe? review, and tell me what ye wishes be!

also, my poll- should meg sing? or not sing? meaning- should she get a vocal role or not? i can't decide- i have a plotline for either way, so if you all give me your feedback, i'll go with the majority on it!


	40. Shiver

Chapter 39- Shiver

A/N: Geez almighty, you guys are making this rough on me! Believe it or not, you all are split pretty much fifty fifty on whether or not Meg should sing. Many of you also offered good reasons, which is helping me a lot, so thanks! I still don't know what I'm going to do. . . I want to please everybody, so I'm trying to work out a way to do that. Plus, I am so sick today it isn't even funny, and I'm super tired because I've been up since four am barfing my brains out. But you didn't need to know that. The point is, that neither snow nor sleet nor a raging case of the flu shall keep me from updating!

Anyway, I know i promised action. . . but this chapter just kind of came out. it's just more fluff that i saw fit to write in, but i promise- auditions will be in the next chapter!

* * *

Meg let out a sigh of relief as the sight of the lair appeared before her eyes when she and Erik stepped out of the passage.

Erik walked over to the organ and set the candelabra down, before turning to look Meg over. He laughed quietly to himself.

"What?" Meg asked.

"If you could only see yourself. . ." he said.

Meg put a hand to her hair, suddenly realizing that it was mussed beyond the point of decency, most of it having fallen out of the neat bun that had held it in place hours before. Looking down, she saw that her dress was covered in dirt from the tunnel. Placing a hand to her forehead, she felt cold beads of sweat, which under the pressure of her already dirty fingers made her feel especially grimy.

"I'm not sure I want to," she replied, looking slightly disgusted. "I must look filthy."

Erik moved over to stand in front of her. "You look perfect," he said, kissing her. Meg felt strangely as though her knees had turned to mush. Still, not wanting to get carried away, she stepped back after a blissful moment.

"I'm going to change," she said. "Then. . . we need to talk."

Grudgingly, Erik stepped aside, and Meg retreated down the hall to her room. Going over to the wardrobe, she picked out a rich, crimson gown. In the adjoining bathroom, she was able to take a good look at herself in the gold-gilded mirror.

She was a sight.

Her blonde hair was streaked with dirt, and her face was smudged. She was, she thought, the complete opposite of perfect.

Taking a brush, she slowly combed out the mess that was her hair, using water to rinse the dirt out, until finally, it had regained some of its former shine. She scrubbed her face, and scraped the dirt out from underneath her fingernails. Satisfied with her appearance, she slipped the dress on, tying the laces tightly. Then, taking a deep breath to calm her heart, which had begun to beat significantly faster than usual, she went back out to the main room, where Erik was waiting for her.

He glanced up when she entered the room- and then did a double take. She looked stunning in the crimson gown that accentuated her slim outline.

"_Beautiful,"_ he thought, not realizing that he had said the words out loud.

Meg smiled shyly.

For a moment, they stood looking at each other. Meg found herself unsure of where to begin.

"You said you wanted to talk. . ." Erik coaxed, leading her on.

She nodded. "I spoke with Monsieur Reyer this morning," she said. "He seems to share your same outlook on my singing."

Erik looked satisfied.

Meg quickly recounted her conversation with the orchestra master.

Erik nodded in approval when she finished. "I always liked Reyer," he commented mildly. "He's always struck me as one who knows music well. Clearly my assumptions of his character were correct." He ran a hand through his dark hair. "So you will sing, then?"

"I will."

Erik's smile widened. He leaned in to kiss her.

"But Erik-" Meg said, when his lips were about a centimeter from touching hers. He pulled back, waiting for her to speak.

Meg continued. "Once roles are assigned, I'll have to start living up there. In the dormitories, I mean."  
Erik looked crestfallen.

"I'll still be able to come down," she went on quickly. "But we'll just. . . we'll just have to plan on living apart. . . more often."

"Very well," he grumbled. "But you will return to me. You will still need me to teach you."

She nodded. "I know. I'll come every day, for as long as I can."

"Fine. But I swear it- if I find that you are letting _outside_ influences take away from your work, I will personally accost you from your dressing room myself," he growled scathingly.

He looked so serious that Meg had to laugh. "I won't forget that," she said lightly.

"I am serious, Marguerite," he said, using her full name to punctuate his point. "There will be many ignorant, young men who will line the streets for you once you make a name for yourself. I would hate to see one of them have to suffer an unfortunate death..."

Not for the first time that evening, there was fear in Meg's eyes. "You promised me, Erik," she said timidly. "You promised me that you wouldn't kill."

"Then don't give me a reason," he retorted.

"I'll give you a reason _not_ to," she said furiously. She stepped forward, placed her hands on Erik's shoulders, and kissed him.

Immediately, Erik felt the sensation that he was being lifted off the ground, a feeling that he always felt when their lips met. Perfect though it was, the feeling was fleeting, and a moment later was ripped away from him as Meg stepped back abruptly.

"_That_, Erik," she said, breathing a little more ragged that usual. "That is what you will lose if you kill again. I love you. . . I love you with every part of me, but I will not stay with you if you let yourself become a murderer."

Slowly, almost reluctantly, Erik met her eyes and nodded.

Relieved, Meg closed the space between them and rested her head on his chest. He held her for a moment, and then eased her away, saying, "We should practice."

They rehearsed for nearly two hours, before Erik's fingers finally ceased motion on the organ.

"You're ready," he said softly, turning to face her from where he sat on the organ bench.

There was still a flicker of doubt in Meg's eyes. "Are you sure?" she asked. "Maybe we should-"

"No," said Erik. "You're ready. You just need to rest for auditions tomorrow."

"We'll still have time to practice tomorrow," she said. "Tomorrow's the auditions for dancers. Voice roles won't be until the day after." She sounded nervous.

Erik reached out and took her hand. "Relax," he said soothingly. He raised her hand to his lips, kissing it gently.

A wave of tiredness rushed over her, and Meg decided to heed his words. With a final goodnight, she went off to bed.

* * *

Long after silence had taken over the cavernous lair, Meg found herself awake. She had been dreaming, but she couldn't remember what the dreams had been about. Whatever they had been, they had shaken her from her slumber, leaving her with a feeling of dread within the deep recesses of her mind. She tossed and turned for awhile, but found it impossible to return to sleep.

She got out of bed and made her way to the main room, sitting in Erik's large, throne-like chair. Most of the candles had long since been extinguished, and there was very little light to see by, but enough to make the darkness seem less severe. The air in the cave was cold, and Meg began to shiver after only a few moments. She didn't know how much time had gone by when she heard someone coming down the hallway.

A moment later, Erik's dark silhouette appeared in the entranceway that lead deeper into the cave.

"Meg?" he questioned. "What are you doing up?" He walked over to where she sat. Meg shivered, and shrugged.

"Just a dream," she responded nonchalantly. "Nerves, I guess."

Erik knelt down in front of her and took her hands.

"Your hands are like ice, Meg," he said concernedly, rubbing them with his own, in and attempt to warm them.

"I've been out here awhile," she said.

Erik noticed how she avoided his eyes.

"Your mind is on the dream," he said, sweeping a loose strand of hair from her face, letting his hand linger on her cheek. "The one you had a few nights ago. Isn't it?"

How did he know? Meg thought. It was almost frightening how he knew her thoughts. Was she that readable? She wondered.

He turned her chin, forcing her to look at him. "I am not going anywhere, Meg," he said solemnly. "You need to rest."

He gave her what he thought was a reassuring look, but for Meg, it only deepened the hole of dread. . .

Nonetheless, she stood and headed back toward her bedroom, shying from his touch. Looking once more at Erik, Meg felt a last, ominous shiver slide down her spine. . .

A/N: hoo. . . is Meg just paranoid, or is there really some danger lurking somewhere in the next chapters? you'll have to wait and see! And guess what? Less than a month until PHANTOM! ON DVD! Squee! I am so excited about that, it isn't funny. Seriously.

Also, I would just like to point out, that just because Meg _said_ she would sing, doesn't mean that she'll get the part. I am still trying to decide what to do, so if anyone feels VERY strongly, then review ASAP!

Love and brownies to all of my wonderful reviewers!

**Illusionist2788**- split them up? No way. At least, not for good. No, I am for a happy ending. . . however what goes down to GET to the happy ending is a different story. . . that might not be all sunshine and roses. Anyway, thanks for all your positive comments! And I can (almost) promise that you will like the outcome. Just keep reading!

**Sbkar**- heh, my editor! Thanks for catching that for me. . . I went back and fixed it. just another sign that I type my stories VERY late at night. I mean, you should see the words that my spell-check picks up. Scary. And yes, heads will roll. Very shortly, in fact. Heh- I'm evil. In the meantime, let me know if you find anymore errors! Thanks!

**Pleading Eyes**- hmmmm. . . that _would_ be an interesting prospect. Maybe I'll put it in, but I don't know. The way I see it, their relationship is already so far along, that Christine is pretty much ancient history. Well, for now at least. But I won't say anymore there. ;)

**Rue Marie**- to sing, or not to sing, that is the question. I really don't know what I'm going to do. So if you really don't want it to happen, then talk me out of it!

**Aleema-darkrose1**- I can honestly say that I had never thought of the bit about getting the old mob back together until you mentioned it. and now I'm in a bit of a tight spot, because the opera ghost needs to return… maybe they will play it like he's a ghost now, I'm not sure. What do you think? Lemme kno!

**Tasha**- I like your idea. I like it a lot. Maybe more animosity between Meg and Erik as a result? Maybe. Anyway- you reviewed my LOTR story! Squee! Though, sadly, that's another one that is kind of on the back burner right now, because Marina began to become –gasp- a Mary Sue, and I got frustrated with it. but I'm glad you liked what I had so far, and thanks for all your support of my writing!

**Phantom's Fallen Angel**- hey- your opinion is NOT useless! On the contrary, it was quite funny and made me laugh! I can assure you that Erik will never do. . . that. And I can also tell you that there will be lots of new challenges forthcoming. So you'll just have to wait and find out. . . hehehe! And do keep your opinions coming. I love 'em!

**Tiniwiel**- thanks for your review. What you say makes sense, and it's a strong argument… which helps me out! Whatever I decide to do though, I hope you'll keep commenting!

Whew- long Author's Note. Okay. I'm done now. I will try to update sometime soon, but until I can sort all these plot details out, I'm not exactly sure when that will be.


	41. Audition

Chapter 40- Auditions

A/N: well, here goes. I've given this a lot of thought, based on what you all have said and what would be beneficial for the plot. I hope you like it, and just remember. . . there are many twists still to come.

Also:

**Chance**: whoops! I sooooooo did not catch that. Thanks for pointing that out to me. . . I'll have to find some way to edit that! Thanks again!

**Daroga Daae**- heh, thanks as always for you valuable input! Between you and me, don't worry. I think I know what I'm going to do, but you'll have to wait until next chapter I think! But it will turn out ok. Trust me!

* * *

As Erik rowed the boat steadily down the subterranean canal, Meg felt her stomach turning over uneasily.

_It's just dance, _she thought. _You've done this thousands of times before_.

_But not without Maman_, her mind retorted.

She bit her lip, stopping only when she tasted the metallic taste of blood. Suddenly, as she recalled her dead mother, Meg felt very small and insignificant. She didn't want to perform if her mother wouldn't be there to watch, to praise, and to scold when the motions were done incorrectly.

Knowing that she wouldn't be there made Meg want to hide with Erik in the cellars of the opera for the rest of time, to completely remove herself from the other part of the world. What good was it anyway? These dark tunnels and subterranean caverns were her home now.

"I thought you said that going through the mirror was too risky," Meg said suddenly.

"We aren't going through the mirror," said Erik. "There is another passage down here. These canals, you see, they spread out for hundreds of feet under the Opera." He steered the boat off the route Meg knew, entering through a stone archway, embellished with strange faces and gargoyles. Torches lit the darkness in the tunnel; casting a strange, greenish-glow to be emitted from the glassy, lucid water.

After several feet, the tunnel began to zigzag, twisting and turning until Meg forgot which way they had come from. How Erik managed to keep track of the many turns was beyond her comprehension.

At long last, she saw facing her another shore. She could see, very distinctly, the outline of a door, framed by more sinister stone carvings.

"This door will bring you out in an antechamber on the first level of the opera house," Erik said. "Just follow the stairs, and there will be a door much like this one. Open it, but be wary. When you need to come back, come through the mirror. But use caution."

Meg nodded. "Will you be there?" she asked. "At the auditions?"

"I am always there, Meg," he responded as she stepped off the boat.

He caught her by the hand before she turned away. Laying a satisfying kiss on her lips, he breathed the words, "Good luck, my angel," and then rowed off again, into the mist.

Taking a calming breath to steady her now rapidly beating heart, Meg headed off toward the theatre.

* * *

There were already many dancers there when she arrived, stretching on the _barre_. As she laced up her toe shoes, a sudden wave of calmness washed over Meg. She could do this, she thought. This was what she had been trained to do. She needed to let go, to let herself be free and just dance as though there were no one watching her. That had always been Madame Giry's unfailing advice. _"Whenever you are nervous, Meg,"_ she had said more than once, "_pretend that you are dancing for no one- no one but yourself. Let the rest of the audience evaporate. They do not matter."_

With that in mind, Meg rubbed her shoes with powder, and moved over to the _barre_, extending her leg out so that it was level with her midsection. She sunk lower on her base leg, feeling the muscles pull and strain as the position was sharpened. Satisfied, she rose again and stretched the opposite leg the same way. After several moments of rigorous stretching, a loud voice called all the dancers to the stage. They stood in lines, at attention as the new ballet mistress, Madame Bisset, detailed how the auditions would be conducted. For the first part of the day, the audition routine would be taught. After a break, they would begin evaluating the dancers for skill and technique. Those who made the cuts at the end of the day would be asked to stay.

"But first we will assess your basic skills," Madame Bisset said. She walked through the lines as the dancers executed several rudimentary steps. Pausing in front of Meg, she watched the young blonde for a moment. "Good," she said, more to herself than to Meg. "Very good."

Meg kept a straight face, and held her gaze straight ahead, reminding herself to concentrate on her steps, and not to dwell on the praise.

Four hours of non-stop dance followed.

When the dancers were finally allotted time for rest, Meg sat down in a corner to stretch. She was joined by another young dancer, a red-head named Juliet.

"Hello," the young girl said lightly. She was sweating profusely, and Meg knew that she herself probably looked the same- tired and drained, yet determined to press on.

Meg smiled, and returned the greeting.

"A few of us heard the directors talking," she said. "And they mentioned your name," she said excitedly. "I think they'll probably cast you. I'm not so sure about me, though," she dipped her head a little, trying to hide disappointment.

"I wouldn't worry," said Meg. "Is this your first audition?"

The redhead nodded. "Yes. I finished at the conservatoire just last month. I'm so nervous. . ." she trailed off.

"Auditions are never really as bad as they seem," said Meg reassuringly. "I'm sure you'll do fine."

Juliet nodded, looking slightly more convinced.

At the end of the day, both she and Meg were asked to return on the morrow, for the final audition.

As they left the auditorium, Juliet talked excitedly the whole time.

"Are you staying in the dormitories?" she asked suddenly.

Meg shook her head. "Not yet," she said. "I'm staying with. . . a friend. . . until final cuts are made." She suppressed a secret smile, thinking of Erik.

"Well then," said Juliet. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

Meg nodded, and, taking a quick detour to make sure no one followed her, doubled back and slipped into the dressing room. It was still empty, and the hallway was empty as she ducked in. Operating the mirror mechanism, Meg slipped into the passageway, which was thankfully lit by several torches.

Erik was on the lakeshore, waiting for her when she returned, and together, they rowed off into the darkness.

* * *

A/N: okay. . . i know that that was really short, but i broke the auditions into 2 chapters. next one up will be Meg auditioning. . . as well as a twist or two, depending on how things go. 


	42. Mistake

Chapter 41- Mistake

A/N: Okay, first off I just want to say that I am so sorry that it took me so long to post. Life has just been crazy lately. I suck, I know. Secondly, if anyone doesn't like how this chapter turns out, I am sorry, but it will get better! (and trust me, it isn't what any of you are thinking. If it is, then you can read my mind and that is frightening.) Thirdly, I know I promised part 2 of Meg's audition, but thanks to certain other... demands... that will be in my next update!

Also, if anyone's interested, I started ANOTHER phan fic with an EC pairing this time! Well, after doing an EM AND an EOC, I guess it was about time! Anyway, its called 'Death's Kiss' and it's kind of this spooky, horror-suspense-drama-but-still-having-some- romance thing. So check it out!

Oh and ONE more thing (no really, I promise) obviously the song in this chapter is from Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber's Phantom of the Opera, and in my opinion, it's the best song ever written. And Gerry Butler did an awesome job of it in the movie! But I'm ranting now. Okay. Story.

* * *

"Breathe, Meg," Erik said. "You must remember to breathe." 

They were at their places beside the organ, Erik sitting with his fingers poised over the keys, Meg standing at his side.

Meg sighed in exasperation. "This could be hopeless," she said pessimistically.

Erik rolled his eyes. "With that attitude, it most likely will be," he said flatly, with obvious disdain.

"I'm sorry," she said finally. "Can we just... stop working for tonight? I'm so tired, and-"

"As you wish," Erik responded crisply.

Meg looked slightly happier.

"Sing for me," she said. "I'm tired of hearing my voice. I want to hear yours."

He didn't move for a moment- just looked at her steadily in a way that made her feel as though he was scanning the depths of her soul...

Then, finally, he obliged.

"_Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation..._

_Darkness stirs, and wakes imagination..._

_Silently the senses abandon their defenses..."_

He swallowed deeply, trying not to let Meg see. He hadn't intended to sing this song... but the words had come forth from his mouth like a pack of wild horses that did as they pleased and had no master.

"_Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendor..._

_grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender..._

_Turn your face away from the garish light of day,_

_Turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light..._

_And listen to the music of the night..."_

Erik closed his eyes, feelings of pain and memory flooding back to him as his hands moved involuntarily over the keys. The light of the candles faded away, only to be illuminated again in the theatre of his mind. Meg was no longer present; but Christine was. Her head was inclined toward his voice, a look of sweet surrender on her face, lips parted slightly.

"_Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams _

_Purge all thoughts of the life you knew before_

_Close your eyes, let your spirit start _

_to soar..." _Christine's eyes closed...

Erik's consciousness was tugged on by an external force... one that he could feel watching him closely and with as much longing as Christine...

He had to force his eyes to open...

"_And you'll live as you've never lived before..."_ He opened his eyes and looked at Meg, coming out of his trance back to reality.

"_Softly, deftly, music shall caress you_

_Hear it, feel it,_

_Secretly possess you_

_Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind_

_In this darkness that you know you cannot fight_

_The darkness of the music of the night..._

_Let your mind start a journey to a strange new world_

_Leave all thoughts of the life you knew before_

_Let your soul take you where you long _

_to be... _

_Only then can you belong to me..." _

Meg stepped closer to Erik, entranced by his song, enraptured by his words. She placed her hands softly on top of his, and removed them from the keys, pulling him up to stand beside her.

He sang again, trying to mask the tremble in his voice which was now more obvious with the absence of the organ.

"_Floating, fooling, sweet intoxication,"_ Meg brought his hands to her face.

"_Touch me, trust me_

_Savor each sensation_

_Let the dream begin _

_Let your darker side give in_

_To the power of the music that I write_

_The power of the music of the night..."_ His head exploded then, it seemed; memories of both Meg and Christine running together, merging and smearing until they were one blotted mess, like ink smeared by water, scarring the purity of a white sheet of paper. Meg's forehead touched his gently; their lips were inches apart...

"_You alone can make my song take flight..._

_Help me make the music of the night..."_ No sooner had the last strain of the final note left his mouth, he felt Meg touch their lips together. After that, Erik found himself unable to stop, his yearning to be loved had suddenly swelled up inside of him. At some point, Meg undid his mask, but he found that he didn't care. He had lost all conception of time, all notions of rationality.

But his mind refused to let him let go. It still tortured him with memories so real and vivid that it made his whole body tremble. And though he knew in his heart that Meg was the one he loved, as he drew a quick breath, a soft, single word slipped from his mouth:

"_Christine..."

* * *

_

A/N: Okay…now before we send Orli's EEPs Chica lots of angry flames…. Just remember that she luvs u!

Seriously people- trust me on this. Had to do it…. it sets certain… things… in motion now. I'll try to update faster, but I'm not making any promises. Final exams are coming up... evil things for those who don't know!

sbkar- aye... i felt the same way about that chapter. honestly. but i hope that this has made up for it? maybe just a little?


	43. Forsaken

Chapter 42- Forsaken

"_Christine..."_

The one word that jerked Meg from her ecstatic reverie, bringing her back to reality harshly. The singular stab, the knife in the heart that cut deeply, letting blood flow freely around the wound.

The moment the damning word left his lips, Erik knew that Meg had heard.

She pulled away sharply, stepping away from him as though he were diseased. His heart plunged to the floor; her eyes were flashing angrily, though he could see the hurt also- its own flame burning clearly.

Fear pulsed through him suddenly, an emotion that he had thought himself incapable of experiencing.

"Meg..." he said desperately. "Meg- please-"  
"What?" she hissed, in a voice that was so low it could barely be heard. "Stand here so you can pretend that I'm _her_?"

"No Meg, never! I-"

"It was all a lie, wasn't it, Erik?" she said venomously.

"No- you have to believe-"

"_I won't!"_

The two words cut through the air, leaving a torn silence between them.

"Why, Erik?" Meg asked suddenly. "Why did you let me believe... how long have you pretended to love me?"

"Meg- I do love you!" he cried out in anguish, falling to his knees before her. "You must believe me!"

"You _can't_ love me!" she said shrilly, and he saw angry tears form behind her eyes. "Its her that you think of... you were thinking of her just now, when you said her name!"

Erik couldn't deny this. He had been thinking of Christine- not voluntarily; the song had taken him back... back to the time when he had been an Angel.

"How long has this masquerade gone on, Erik? Did you intend from the start to train me to be like her, to act like her? Is that why you've tried so hard to get me to sing?" Her voice shook. "I won't live a lie, Erik. I won't live on like this, pretending." She took a deep breath. "I won't be _Christine_."

She backed away, beginning to retreat toward her room.

"Meg, please..." Erik moaned pitifully.

"Leave me alone," she said icily.

The silence that followed her door slamming shut was deafening to the point where Erik was certain that he would go insane.

He felt as though someone had removed his heart from his chest; he felt empty inside, as though he would never feel anything again.

Hours passed, in agonizing silence, before he picked himself up and also retreated to his sanctuary in his coffin.

He woke the next morning, taking a moment to remember what had happened. There was a sense of emptiness in the cave as he got out of the coffin and walked out into the main room. He passed Meg's door, which was shut.

As he approached the organ, something caught his eye; a note, scribbled in blood red ink, presumably from the inkpot that sat beside the parchment. It was short, but the words each had their own torturous power. On the note were the words that Erik dreaded:

_Erik,_

_Goodbye.

* * *

_

A/N: Hey guys: sorry it has been so long and that this chappie was so short. I will make it better, I promise! And plus: I HAVE THE DVD! IT IS MINE, ALL MINE!

so now the question is: what will Erik do to get her back? I promised new twists... so once again, prepare for a wild ride!

As always, review, and I luv u all!


	44. Alone

Chapter 43- Alone

A/N: Hey all- let me start off by saying that this week was super long for me…. I have barely had time to do anything, so that's my excuse for not updating sooner. But thanks to all who have been waiting patiently! On the other hand, I got a lovely flame for this story last night. Kind of made me laugh a little bit. Though I don't see how you can read just 2 chapters and be able to call a story crap…. But never mind. I am far too tired to rant, so I'm just going to post and shut up, and we can all live happily ever after. K?

* * *

_One... two... three... four... five... six... seven... eight..._

The counts instinctively sounded in Meg's head as she moved in time to the sound of the orchestra. Dance auditions were nearly over, and she was confident that she would receive a good part.

In the back of her concentration, she heard the singers warming up, preparing for their audition. As she heard the scales sung repeatedly, she felt a small sense of fear at the thought of defying Erik.

She had made her decision that morning as she had left the labyrinth- she would not sing; not now, not ever again.

Music for her was now full of false promises, just as Erik was.

She was a dancer. She was not Christine Daae.

She could feel her face turning red at the remembrance of Christine's name. The memory of her best friend was now also a reminder that Erik had never really loved her; she was merely his replacement, a way for him to pretend...

_No more,_ she thought. _It's over_.

She had thought briefly of leaving the Opera, putting as much space between them as she could, but just the thought of what had happened last time was enough to keep her inside the walls of the Opera Populaire.

As the music ended, Meg struck her final pose; hands raised gracefully over her head as she did so.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the ballet instructor give a small nod of approval.

"_Bien_," she said loudly, walking out onto the center of the stage. "That concludes the audition for the corps de ballet. You will all know by tomorrow if we have chosen to keep you."

The dancers murmured quietly to each other as they exited the stage.

"I think today was the hardest," Juliet commented, coming over to Meg.

Meg gave a small, half-smile. She welcomed Juliet's company; it had been a long time since she had had a female companion her age to talk to- after the months alone with Erik. Months which she now dwelled on with a sense of shame and regret.

"What's wrong, Meg?" Juliet asked. They were sitting on a long wooden bench, taking off their pointe shoes. "You seem preoccupied by something."

"It's nothing," Meg responded unconvincingly.

Juliet looked as though she wanted to inquire further, but decided against it.

Meg sighed. "Why does everything have to be so complicated?" she mused out loud. "Why can't things just be as you imagine them?" She stared wistfully into space.

Juliet's fair face furrowed in a frown. "I suppose that if everything were as you wished it, you'd be rather unhappy."

"Why?" Meg asked. "Then things would be perfect."

"Perfection is not always good, thought," Juliet argued gently. "No one is perfect... it's what makes us human, I think. Like me and my dancing... I am certainly not perfect. But there is always the challenge there, no?"

Meg bit her lip, thinking.

Juliet went on. "My mother used to tell me not to wallow in dreams, when the things around me needed mending. She said that a person can do two things: they can wish away their problems, or they can stand up to them."  
"Your mother sounds very wise," Meg commented quietly.

"She was," Juliet whispered. "She died... a few years ago."

"I'm sorry. I know what it's like..."

They sat in silence for a moment, and then Juliet said, "Some of the dancers were going into the city tonight... if you'd like to come with us."

Meg smiled wanly, but shook her head. "I think I'll just watch the singers audition. I need some time to just think. The past few days have been so strange, and-"

She broke off when she heard the sound of singing coming from the stage. It sounded like a woman's voice, and it was absolutely beautiful. Both Meg and Juliet rose simultaneously, moving into the wings to catch a glimpse of the woman on stage. She was young- around Meg's age and she was also, Meg noted, very beautiful. Dark reddish locks of auburn hair framed a thin, fair face with blue eyes and pink lips. The girl's eyebrows were sharp- enough to give her a look of superior class, but not sharp enough to make her look sinister.

"Who on earth is that?" Juliet whispered to Meg.

Meg shook her head, an expression of awe on her face as she watched the singer on the stage. Coming from the young woman's mouth was the most pure, untainted melody that Meg had ever heard. It was perfection itself, there on the stage.

Around her, she could see the other dancers and performers lining the wings, watching as the girl sang.

"She's wonderful," Juliet breathed.

Meg could hardly disagree.

When the girl finished her song, there followed a stunned silence. Then, as though awakening from a trance-like spell, cheers erupted from all around- from the musicians in the orchestra pit, the dancers on stage, even the stagehands on the catwalks chimed in with their whistles and praise.

"Brava! Bravissima!" cried Monsieur Reyer, applauding.

The brunette on stage bobbed her head and floated gracefully into the wings.

* * *

In Box 5, Erik stared, shell-shocked at the singer on the stage. Her voice was unearthly- he had never heard the like of it before. Her vocal abilities far surpassed Meg's, and, as he grudgingly admitted, Christine's as well. She had a higher pitch-range; hitting many sharps that Erik would have thought unattainable for any other opera singer. And her voice projected as well- it carried out into the wide, yawning theatre, still strong and full when it reached Erik's ears in Box 5. Oh, the things he could do with her voice, he thought. If she were to sing some of his music, he knew that the results would be sinful... such purity with such darkness... it would be suicide to listen to something so perfect...

He shook himself. In the moment, he had forgotten about Meg. He spied her standing next to a redheaded dancer. No, he thought, he didn't have time to think of the new singer. His first priority was Meg. He had to win her back.

The question was, how?

* * *

After the rehearsals culminated and the stage emptied, Meg, Juliet, and a few other girls remained backstage.

"Who was that singing today?" Juliet asked.

"I don't know," said Michelle. "She was wonderful, wasn't she?"

"Yes," another girl put in. "Though I've never heard of her before."

"Her name is Rachelle L'hereux," said a girl named Chloe darkly. "And don't let her voice fool you. Her heart is black. I knew her in the Conservatoire- she'll do anything for a lead. I don't trust her... but I wouldn't make her my enemy."

"Well, no doubt she'll get the lead this time..." Michelle argued.

"Yes- she was the best, by far," Juliet said.

The rest of the girls nodded in agreement.

On her way back to her room, Meg wondered vaguely if Erik had heard the new soprano. A part of her felt empty without him... but a larger part of her reminded her that she had been living a lie.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed her door open; ready to spend the night alone.

* * *

A/N: well… did I not promise new twists? New girl at the opera… what will happen next? 


	45. Notes

Chapter 44- Notes

Erik sat at his desk late that night, quill in hand. It was time to send another note to his managers, among others.

_My dear Messieurs, _

_Greetings once more. Things seem to be progressing quite amiably in anticipation of the next Opera. I am sure that with the absence of La Carlotta- whom you have no doubt heard of- the production of Faust will go smoothly, provided that you heed my casting advice. _

_I must insist that Meg Giry be allotted a lead role in the ballet corps- I am anxious to see her rise to the status of prima ballerina, and trust that you will agree and comply. _

_Additionally, the new soprano you have found is sublime. Her voice is spectacular. Such talent does not come by very often. She will be a charming Margarita, I am sure. _

_Once more, I remind you not to sell Box 5 for opening night, and that my salary will be due in no less than a week._

_Your Obedient Servant,_

_O.G._

As the ink dried, Erik reread his letter, before placing it into a parchment envelope and sealing it with his signature wax skull.

Pulling out a clean piece of parchment, he penned his next note...

_Monsieur Reyer, _

_I congratulate you on the discovery of Mademoiselle L'hereux. I am sure she will do well, as her voice seems to have no equal. However, I would like to insist that, should the need arise for an understudy, that you assign the role to Meg Giry. I assure you that she will rise to the challenge. While her voice is not as perfected as Mlle. L'hereux's, she is capable. I know that you are a reasonable man, Monsieur, and that you will heed my words. _

_Respectfully,_

_ O.G._

The next day, Pierre deVillier found the note sitting on his desk in the office. Longfellow entered a moment later, coffee in hand, saying something about an upcoming croquet match.

"Look, Richard," deVillier said. "Another one."

Longfellow frowned. "What does it say?" he asked.

deVillier skimmed the note. "He demands that we cast Meg Giry as the lead ballerina... and that we pay his salary." He looked a little less nervous. "So we will."

"Why?" Longfellow asked staunchly, taking a sip of his coffee and grimacing at the strong-ness of it.

"I think we should, Richard. Things go better when the Opera Ghost is happy."

Longfellow grunted. "Fine," he said. "Handle this Opera Ghost rubbish in your own way. It is of no concern to me- I'd just as soon not pay the crack potted fool, but if it pleases you..."

That matter aside, Longfellow returned his attention to his coffee, and no more was said of the Opera Ghost.

* * *

This was not the case across the Opera House in the dormitories.

When Meg woke, she rolled over to find a note, sitting on her night table. She knew exactly who it was from, judging by the sinister wax seal that stared back at her. Her hand trembled as she picked it up. She debated whether or not to read it, finally ripping it open and extracting the letter.

_Meg,_

_How long shall we play this game? I have asked your forgiveness... but I do not intend to wait forever to have it. I am not a fool, Marguerite, and I will not play your games forever. You **will** return to me. I shall give you time, but know that you cannot escape me for long. I am always there, Meg, as you well know, and though you deny it to yourself, you cannot live away from me. _

_I will wait patiently for your return._

_-Erik_

Meg crinkled the letter in her hand. The nerve of him! she thought, enraged. How could he presume to think that her forgiveness would be won so easily? It was ludicrous- after what had happened between them, how did he expect her to just turn around and run back to him. He was too overly-confident in himself, and she would see to it that that would be his undoing.

Meg knew that she was more resilient than Erik thought. She would not go back, for she knew that though he thought that she depended on him, in reality, he needed her just as badly.

She wouldn't go back, wouldn't reconcile.

She would make him beg for forgiveness.

* * *

There was one other person that discovered a note that morning.

In her dressing room, Rachelle L'hereux received quite a shock to find an envelope embellished with a skull seal waiting on her dressing table. Inside was a note, written in blood-red ink…

_Mademoiselle L'hereux,_

_It is my great pleasure to bid you welcome to the Paris Opera House. Forgive me if this letter has caught you off-guard; I understand that the outer appearance might have been a bit shocking, but you will find that things are not always what they seem..._

_Your voice is unlike any other I have heard before, and I am certain that you will do Faust justice. I will watch your career with great interest._

_-The Opera Ghost_

The note fluttered from her hands as she let out a shrill scream.

* * *

A/N: don't get the wrong idea about this, k? 

Just trust me!


	46. Reprise

Chapter 45- Reprise

A/N: hey! I have returned! Sorry it took so long (again); I started working a couple weeks ago, and had to take these dreaded high school assessment tests…. Which really suck, but anyway… I should be putting up not 1 but 2 new chappies tonight! All for you, my lovelies! So read 'em, review 'em…. And gimme any suggestions you have!

* * *

A carriage pulled up in front of the Opera Populaire a week later. It was later in the evening, but the sky was still light and the air was warm- a reminder that summer was nearing as the chill of the winter melted away.

Meg and Juliet were leaving the Opera House with the other members of the corps de ballet when they saw the carriage. The managers were waiting on the front steps expectantly.

"I wonder who that is," Juliet mused aloud.

Meg shrugged. She could care less. Her thoughts were of getting away from the Opera House for a time; rehearsals that day had been especially grueling. She hadn't heard from Erik since the note, but every so often she would feel as though someone was watching her. And she knew better than to think that he wasn't there.

Actually, the knowledge that he was watching her gave Meg a cynical sense of victory. She was playing the game- and she was winning. If he wanted her, Erik would be the one to make the first move.

For tonight, however, she pushed Erik from her mind. She found it easier to concentrate when she wasn't thinking of him, though he had that irksome way of interrupting her thoughts at random points in the day.

But she shook herself, and turned her attention to the gossip of the other dancers as they made their way down the streets.

* * *

Erik was sulking in Box 5, basking in the silence of the Opera at nightfall. The rehearsals had long since ended, and the last of the stage hands had left, leaving the stage empty and letting a peaceful silence settle over the theatre. The view from Box 5 was perfect; it was no secret that it was the best seat in the house. He sat in the shadows, at an angle where he knew that he would not be seen, but not so hidden that he couldn't see the stage.

Think of me... think of me fondly when we've said goodbye...

The words swam to the surface of his memory. He tried to push them away, but couldn't shake the suspicion that they might have been prophetic...

He let his mind drift for a few moments, thinking of nothing, feeling only a sense of oneness with the Opera.

His silent reverie was broken by the sound of voices. Two of them he recognized- the managers were back it seemed, poking around. But there was a third voice that Erik had never heard before.

"-and this is the main theatre... it's truly magnificent, even after the chandelier crashed. We've had it completely restored, of course. Five thousand men it took, but the job was done, as you can see," Longfellow quipped.

Erik moved to the edge of Box 5, staying in the shadows. Peering over the ledge, he saw deVillier and Longfellow, accompanied by a man who looked to be a few years younger than he was, richly dressed.  
Erik could think of only one reason why the managers would be bringing someone like this to the Opera at this hour, and giving him a personal tour.

He cringed as he realized that this must be the Opera's new patron.

His suspicions were confirmed as he listened in on the rest of the conversation.

"When do you expect to open, Monsieur?" the man was inquiring.

"With rehearsals underway, it should be about a month or so from now. You will find, Comte, that our cast is quite proficient in their arts... the opening gala will be one to remember..." deVillier responded proudly.

"Yes... and I'm sure that the queues will lengthen even further with the word of your patronage, Monsieur Comte."

Erik frowned.

He didn't like this.

He didn't like this at all.

The managers were acting like groveling imbeciles, buttering the affluent patron up, giving him a well-rehearsed sales pitch.

He also didn't like the fact that the Comte was young and rather handsome, though Erik himself was reluctant to admit this. He was tall and sure in his stance; his face was mostly clean-shaven, but the outline of a sophisticated goatee could be seen. He looked more astute than a certain former Vicomte had been- and he carried himself with more maturity than Raoul had.

Erik watched him with eyes narrowed in a jealous fury.

This was too much... it seemed as though things of the past were coming back to haunt him.

He cringed at the thought of Meg falling for the new patron.

Would fate really be so spiteful? He wondered.

No, he resolved, if Meg even showed one sign of any such feelings for the Comte... he would...

_What? Kill?_ His brain posed the question. _She would never forgive you for that._

_Still_, he responded mentally, _I will not sit back and let her be wooed by this rich young fool. She said herself that she wasn't Christine. _

The Comte and the managers left the theatre soon afterwards, and Erik left also, though he did not return to his lair.

If the past was to repeat itself, Erik the Phantom would not be left out of it.

* * *

The next morning, the first evidence of the return of the Opera Ghost could be noted. In the morning when the dancers first came in, they found things to be in slight- though not striking- disarray.

As the dancers prepared themselves, small things like ribbons or makeup cases were discovered missing. Most of this was chalked up to irresponsibility, and a fair few of the ballet rats were reprimanded for being careless.

But as the day progressed, there were more signs...

At one point, when the stage hands prepared to lower the newly completed backdrop, they found too late that the ropes had been tampered with. The result was the backdrop crashing down from the rafters, raining down a good quantity of sawdust. No one was hurt, but as Meg looked up with the other dancers, all of whom were rattled by the incident, she could think of only one explanation:

_He's there, the Phantom of the Opera..._

She didn't voice this aloud- not wanting to call any attention to Erik, but as the backdrop mess was cleaned up, she could have sworn she saw the swish of a black cloak from high in the catwalks...


	47. Jealousy

Chapter 46- Jealousy

A/N: well, not much to say... onward with the story!

* * *

Rachelle's crystalline voice rang out through the theatre as she stood in the center of the stage, singing one of Margarita's arias from Faust. The note from the Opera Ghost was long since forgotten; Rachelle had told no one of it, and had promptly discarded it in the wastebasket, certain that it was the attempt of a jealous chorus girl trying to take her place. 

"_Bravissima_!" Monsieur Reyer praised as she finished. "Flawless!"

A mild applause rang out, and Rachelle smiled smugly.

On the other side of the stage, Meg frowned. Rachelle seemed too perfect for her own good. From what Meg had seen of her- though she hadn't seen much- she had come to realize that Rachelle L'hereux was a vain, selfish young woman. Already she had thrown a few tantrums of Prima Donna proportions, though in place of Carlotta's pathetic crying and carrying on, she had resorted to yelling curses in French. It had taken several moments, and Monsieur Reyer's pleas that yelling would ruin her voice to calm her down. And to Meg's amusement- and also to her astonishment- she had found out that the outburst had been brought on by a small flaw in her gown for the opening gala, which was still three weeks away.

Today, though, Rachelle showed no signs of an impending blow-up, but Meg knew all too well that Prima Donnas' moods changed faster than most people could think.

There was a sudden commotion as the managers made an entrance.

The Englishman went immediately over to Rachelle, showering her with praise.

"Yes, yes... well done, well done indeed, Mademoiselle!" he gushed. "I believe we may have the best in the world here, Monsieur Reyer, don't you agree?"

The aging conductor nodded.

Rachelle smirked.

In the wings, Meg rolled her eyes.

It was a moment before Meg noticed that the two managers were being followed by a small group of finely dressed people.

"It is my pleasure to introduce the new patrons of our Opera," Longfellow was saying. "Monsieur and Madame L'Chante, Monsieur Olivier, and the Comte de Reinoir..." he continued on and on, giving a rather overly-eloquent speech about the Opera.

Each of the new patrons was received with a lukewarm applause, although Meg could sense that some of the dancers' hostility; the aristocrats were staring down at the cast as though they were lower life forms, except she realized, for Rachelle, whom they shook hands with warmly.

Some things would never change, Meg thought grudgingly. She watched with mild disdain as Rachelle batted her irritatingly long eyelashes at the man Longfellow had identified as the Comte. He was the youngest of the group, and the most handsome. In the back of her mind, Meg was almost certain that if this had been a year or so ago, she would have probably been giggling and staring longingly after the Comte like the rest of the ballet girls. But Meg was a far cry from the swooning young girl she had once been. She didn't care about the Comte, or the other patrons. Nor did she realize the Comte catch a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye...

Rachelle L'hereux, however, saw exactly where the Comte's gaze was wandering. He was looking right at one of the "ballet rats" as she referred to them. The girl was short and slender; Rachelle recognized her as one of the leading ballerinas. She didn't know the blonde's name, but watched her with narrow, scrutinizing eyes, as if sizing up the competition. After a moment of this analysis, Rachelle determined that she had no idea why the Comte seemed to find the dancer so pleasing to look at. The girl was thin; her skin seemed to stretch to fit over bones in some places. And her complexion was so pale, Rachelle noted. She looked almost sickly... and she had no figure. Rachelle flipped her auburn hair over her shoulder, assuring herself that her beauty far surpassed the little dancer's.

Why, then, she asked herself, was the man staring at her with such interest?

Rachelle narrowed her eyes. She had to find out who the little brat was that was attracting such attention. It would be improper for such a high-standing man such as the Comte to court a ballet rat with no social status. She, Rachelle, on the other hand, had come from a rich family of wealth and class. As she watched the Comte watching the dancer, Rachelle knew what she wanted. She wanted the Comte... he was rich, titled, and handsome.

She wanted to put the little dancer in her place.

And she would stop at nothing until she had.

* * *

A/N: hmmm a jealous diva, a new patron… and angry Erik…. What oh what will happen next?

Review, and I just might tell u!


	48. Temptation

Chapter 47- Temptation

The next several days passed as the previous ones had since Meg had left Erik. The only small change, Meg noticed, was the frequent presence of the Comte de Renoir at the rehearsals. This wouldn't have bothered Meg, except for the feeling that she always had that he was watching her. Her suspicions were confirmed one particular morning as she worked on her solo routine. In her form-fitting bodice and long, flowing skirt, she knew that she would attract the attention of the stagehands. It wouldn't be the first time, but she didn't care about them. They were brainless pigs, most of them. But as she danced alone on the great stage, she felt the sharp pair of eyes watching her every move; not in a predative way, but in such a way that made Meg feel uncomfortable. She didn't want that kind of attention; now that Erik was no longer in her life, she wanted no involvement with any man- not now, and possibly not ever.

But with her resolve came a sense of regret.

Or perhaps it wasn't regret, she thought later that evening as she blew out the candle and crawled beneath the covers of her bed.

Maybe it was longing.

As she lay in the dark, she couldn't help but think of the fact that the hard mattress she slept on wasn't the beautiful swan bed in Erik's lair, with the red satin sheets and pillows so soft it felt as though she was resting her head on the clouds. Alone in the night, there was nothing to distract her from the deep reaches of her mind. The more time that went by, the more she longed for his touch, and his voice. She wanted to see him again, badly.

She spent nearly every night awake, tossing and turning, thinking of how easy it would be to steal down to the cellars of the Opera House, and beg Erik to love her, even if only as a replacement for Christine... but her conscience wouldn't let her. Her sensible self refused to sink back to that level.

Her mixed emotions made Meg angrier than she had ever been in her whole life. Thus, she threw herself into her dancing; when she rehearsed, it was as though she was touched by some higher power. Her steps were flawless, and she began to attract as much attention when she danced as Rachelle did when she sang.

This, Meg began to notice, seemed to infuriate the diva, who would stand in the wings, hands on her hips and frowning.

* * *

For his part, Erik took notice of Meg's success as well. She was now the second-best dancer in the whole group, bested only by an older _prima_ named Lisette. He watched her every day, from Box 5.

Every day, he would mentally beat himself for ever being so foolish.

Every day, he would wonder if she was hurting as badly as he was.

For it was hurt, and hurt of the worst kind. It was the kind of hurt that started as burning anger, simmering like a pot of water held over a fire. It bubbled and boiled over, exploding angrily, but leaving a searing, scarring burn afterwards. It was the hurt that comes from trying to hate something one loves. In his confused emotions, he tried to forget Meg; tried to give himself some reason to hate her, some reason to move on. But the more he tried to hate her, the more he found that he loved her. The thought of her not being there was more than his heart could bear.

Behind the curtains of his private box, Erik cursed the gods for giving man such capacity to feel. If only humans could be emotionless, he thought. It would be so much easier to feel nothing.

But the gods themselves seemed to be conspiring against him that day, for as he sat in his box, watching yet another day of rehearsals, he saw a very unpleasant scene unfold before his eyes...

* * *

The orchestra was playing, and Meg was on stage, dancing along with a few of the other leading ballerinas. Out of the corner of his eye, Erik saw the Comte standing in the wings, with a satisfied smirk on his face as he watched Meg dance.

Seeing him watching her made Erik seethe.

Meg took no notice of either of them; her gaze was fixed in concentration, and her face was bright with makeup. Her stage presence was striking; she became part of the music, moving fluidly to its changing rhythms and melodies.

For a few moments, Erik simply watched- forgetting all else except for her.

His heart swelled when he saw her; so beautiful and graceful on the stage- and then died when he came back to earth with the remembrance that she was no longer his.

When the music ended, though, he saw Monsieur Reyer signal for a break, and at that precise moment, disaster struck.

Erik saw the Comte stride onto the stage, his gait commanding and sure.

He walked over to Meg, who had just turned to exit into the wings on the opposite side of the stage.

They exchanged a few words, and Erik saw Meg smile and nod.

He didn't notice that his hands, which were gripping the wooden railing of the box, were trembling from his intense grip.

Something had to be done, he thought, and quickly.

Like a spectre, he swept out of Box 5.

On stage, Meg was still conversing with the Comte.

He had come up when the dance had concluded to speak with her, in his smooth manner.

"That was a wonderful performance," he had complimented her suavely.

Meg ducked her head. "Thank you, Monsieur," she said. "But it was merely a rehearsal. I have much room to improve, I'm certain."

The Comte was mildly taken aback by her detached sounding voice, but overlooked it.

"You'll be the star of the gala, I'm sure," he said.

Meg turned her head to look at him. "The honor will be Mademoiselle L'hereux's, I'm sure, Monsieur le Comte."

"Please," he said, call me Etienne. It's much less imposing."

Meg nodded her head. "Very well," she said, giving a slightly forced smile. She didn't buy into the Comte's flattery. He was most likely after what all rich young bachelors wanted- something that he absolutely would not receive from Meg Giry.

Offstage, Rachelle began another angry tirade, and the Comte rolled his eyes.

"She may be a good singer," he commented, "but all of her outbursts could ruin her vocal chords, don't you think?" His eyes were smiling, and Meg, who couldn't help but agree, smiled and nodded in affirmation.

He looked as though he was about to say something more, but he never got the chance.

For just then, Meg heard an ominous cracking noise as a large rafter came crashing down...

* * *

A/N: oh dang… looks like I've left you a cliffie again. Sorry so short, couldn't help it. life is busy, and it sux.

I'll update soon!


	49. Vengeance

Chapter 48- Vengeance

Meg's first thought as the Comte threw himself on top of her, shielding her from the falling beam was that she was tired of finding herself in this position. Did she really seem so helpless that she was unable to defend herself?

Her second thought, amidst the screams, was that of shock.

Without a doubt, the rafter falling had been Erik.

An involuntary shiver ran down her spine.

The beam was no accident.

He was trying to tell her something.

It was a warning.

"Are you all right, Mademoiselle?" the Comte asked concernedly.

Meg nodded. "Yes," she managed to say. "Yes... I'm fine."

The managers rushed out suddenly from the wings. "Monsieur le Comte! Mademoiselle Giry! Are you all right?" Longfellow asked, looking red-faced and shaken.

Meg nodded, but the Comte looked enraged.

"What was the meaning of that?" he asked furiously. "I demand to know who was responsible. We could have been killed!"

"We are deeply sorry, Monsieur," Longfellow apologized with contrite sincerity. "A- Accidents do happen..."

"I think that's enough rehearsing for today," Monsieur Reyer chimed in, stepping up onto the stage. The rest of the cast nodded in agreement; they all looked extremely shaken.

The Comte turned to Meg. "Are you certain you aren't hurt?" he asked.

She nodded in affirmation. "Really- I'm fine," she said.

"You look very pale," he commented concernedly. "Perhaps you should allow me to escort you to your room."

She nodded again, and took his arm. She knew that she probably looked like a helpless female; having the Comte help her off the stage, but in her mind, she was too frightened to care. It wasn't the fact that she'd nearly died that frightened her, it was the fact that Erik had deliberately endangered her life.

Was he really trying to kill her?  
Had his rage over her leaving turned to madness this quickly?

The thought of Erik trying to kill her made Meg's blood run cold. She remained in this subdued state of shock as the Comte led her through the halls of the Opera to the dormitories.

When they reached Meg's room, the Comte stopped. "Will you be all right, Meg?" he asked.

"Yes, Monsieur, thank you," she said, overlooking his forwardness at calling her by her first name.

"Very well. I'll leave you, then. I hope to see you again soon?" He posed the last phrase in the form of a hopeful question.

"Of course," Meg said, attempting to smile. "And thank you again, for saving my life."

The Comte smiled, and brought Meg's hand to his lips, kissing it lightly.

"Until we meet again, then, Meg Giry," he said. And with that, he turned and left.

After he had gone, Meg slipped through the door, shut against it, before nearly collapsing against the wooden frame, confused and frustrated. She drew in a shaky breath, and willed tears not to fall.

She didn't know what to think; she couldn't think at all. Erik wouldn't hurt her... she was sure that he still loved her...

And yet he had.

Meg was suddenly afraid. The fear rushed over her like an ocean wave, the coldness surging over her, engulfing it under its black surface, smothering her and freezing her soul from inside.

The Phantom of the Opera was back, she thought, and this time, he wanted vengeance.

* * *

Back in his lair, Erik's hands were shaking from what he'd just done. It had been an impulsive decision, to drop the beam; he hadn't thought of the consequences...

But the look of disbelief on Meg's face had told him that his actions had almost destroyed the thing that he loved most in the world.

As he sat alone, the truth sunk in.

He had almost killed her.

What if the Comte hadn't been there to push her out of the way? he wondered.

No, his mind retorted, if the Comte hadn't been there, he wouldn't have caused the accident in the first place.

It was his fault, for trying to get close to Meg.

If the Comte tried to pursue Meg any further, Erik thought, there would be a murder at the Opera.

He knew that he had to act, and act quickly, before Meg became ensnared in the same trap that Christine had.

It was then, as he remembered his former love, that Erik began to devise a plan...

* * *

A/N: oh dear... what ever will Erik do next?

I'll admit, this chapter was pretty dull… I wrote it really late last night, and was hoping to get some action in, but it just didn't work…

For those of you who are tired of Meg and Erik being apart... have patience. Things will get intense next chapter, so hang on to your Erik plushies, everyone!

Okay… I've put this off for far too long. I must recognize my wonderful readers!

Rue Marie- yes yes… it is very long indeed. Longer than I had intended it, I think, but I haven't stopped because a) I have no idea how I want it to end, and b.) I'm having wayyy too much fun to quit now! As for your story, lemme know when you do decide to update.

Dove of Night- wow, thanks for your wonderful review. Thanks for taking the time to read all 48 chapters- I hope you continue to read and send me your opinions. I can't tell you enough how much I love hearing from other people about my writing.

Lady Jaye- thanks for your suggestions! Keep 'em coming, I love them!

Bitter lilly- I know… patrons suck! Anyway… if you're still looking for ErikMeg fics, check out some of the stories by Rue Marie. They aren't strictly romances… but they are very well written, and altogether awesome!

Empathicdreamer- I totally agree with you on the power of dance, and that was exactly what I had in mind when Meg said that she refused to be Christine. Keep reading, and sending me your feedback!

CelestialGlowEquivalence- yep yep… tormenting Rachelle is terrible fun! I'm enjoying it way too much, I think, but don't write off the diva as one to take things sitting down. Prima donna though she is, you'll see her claws and fangs soon methinks!

Sarah- thanks to you for that wonderful review! You made me smile! And what's more, you made me want to write more. Hope you enjoy this chappie!

To everybody else who left me a review… I love you all! -**hugs and brownies to everyone-**


	50. Conspiracy

Chapter 49- Conspiracy

A/N: well guys... this chapter was all ready yesterday, but then my computer got power surged and I had to retype it. Needless to say, it pissed me off. A lot. So you guys need to send me lots of long reviews to make me happy!

Rue Marie: okay… so brownies don't work for you…. How about muffins? Any bad experiences with them? lol

DragonsFlight- of course I don't mind! I'm flattered, and I hope you like this chappie as well!

TheatreAngel- glad you like it, and glad you reviewed a bit in the middle!

* * *

The day after the rafter fell, everyone was nervous about going onstage. The ballet rats traveled about in packs, always looking around as if to make sure that they were alone. The singers would take to glancing up into the catwalks, as though fearing the crash of another random object. The sceneshifters were all mystified over how such an event had happened- many of them believed that sabotage was to be blamed, and a few of them carried knives with them as they worked above the stage.

In the wings, Meg happened to pass by a group of chorus girls, who were whispering intently about the previous day's events.

"It was the ghost," one of them whispered excitedly. "The phantom of the opera. He's warning us... he doesn't want us here!"

A younger chorus girl looked frightened. "Will he kill us?"

The older girl nodded savagely. "He'll strangle you in your bed, he will. He hates everyone who enters his opera house."

"That's enough," said Meg sharply.

The girl speaking jumped a little, then glanced sheepishly up to meet Meg's eyes.

The blonde ballerina looked agitated, and angry.

"Seeing as you've never met the phantom of the opera personally," Meg said with a frown, "I don't think that gives you license to spread rumors about him."

"You speak as though you know him," the girl said suspiciously.

Meg shrugged, face passive. "I myself doubt that he even exists."

The chorus girl snorted. "Even after he almost murdered you yesterday?"

"There was no proof that it had anything to do with the supposed 'Opera Ghost," Meg retorted.

With that, she turned and strode away.

She didn't see Rachelle L'hereux walk over to the group of chorus girls.

"That ballerina," Rachelle asked the chorus girl who had been telling the story of the Opera Ghost, "who is she?"

"That's Meg Giry," the girl responded. "I heard that she was around before the fire... everyone says that she knows more than she lets on."

"About the phantom of the opera, you mean?"

The chorus girl nodded. "She doesn't believe he exists. But I think she's lying."

"Oh, but he does exist, my dear," said Rachelle mischievously. "I myself have received a letter from him."

The chorus girl raised an eyebrow.

"It is the truth," Rachelle said. "The Opera Ghost exists."

And with that, she too left the group.

But Rachelle wasn't finished instigating trouble yet. She strode over to where Meg Giry stood, unlacing her pointe shoes.

"Don't believe in the Phantom, do you?" the diva asked smugly, with a smirk that made Meg extremely uneasy. There was something about her manner that led her to believe that Rachelle knew something that she shouldn't.

Meg shrugged, attempting to keep a straight face that wouldn't betray her fear. Though he had evidently wanted to kill her, she still felt as though it were her duty to protect Erik from being discovered by the world.

"Not really." She didn't meet Rachelle's eyes

"Not even after what happened to you yesterday?"

Meg shook her head.

"Well... perhaps this can convince you otherwise."

Meg froze as Rachelle held out a parchment envelope. It was familiar; with a seal that Meg would recognize anywhere.

The letter in Rachelle's possession was, without a doubt, from the Opera Ghost.

Rachelle watched Meg's face closely. A quick spasm of fear passed over it as she took the letter from Rachelle's hands, but she disguised it by acting disbelieving. "Where did you get this?" she asked, with genuine incredulity.

"I found it one day in my dressing room," Rachelle said triumphantly, keeping a close eye on Meg's reactions. Her time at the conservatoire had not only taught her to sing, but had taught her to act, and how to read when others were acting as well.

This ballerina Meg Giry was a good actress, she thought, but Rachelle could tell that her ignorance of the Phantom was a farce.

Perhaps it would be beneficial to keep a closer eye on her, Rachelle thought to herself.

As she read the Phantom's note to the prima donna, Meg found it hard to contain her reaction.

What had Erik's motives been for penning this note? she wondered.

The harsh feeling of Rachelle's piercing stare brought Meg back to reality. She cleared her throat, handed the note back to Rachelle, looked the prima donna in the eye and said, "Well... you've convinced me, then." And picking up her pointe shoes, she left the stage area quickly.

* * *

A short while later, the Comte arrived at the Opera Populaire.

Etienne de Reinoir looked as he normally did- tall, sure and steady as he strode commandingly into the theatre, though his face looked angrier than usual. In his hand, he carried a parchment envelope...

He stormed into the theatre, walking briskly over to where the managers stood.

"You two!" he said loudly, voice echoing slightly as it bounced off of the walls of the grand theatre. He held up the parchment. "I would like an explanation for this!"

The Comte handed the parchment over to Monsieur deVillier.

It was a skull-sealed envelope, and inside was a letter, penned in blood-red ink. One look, and deVillier knew exactly who it was from.

_Monsieur le Comte,_

_You will find that history may have a way of repeating itself here at the Opera._

_Stay away from Mademoiselle Giry... if you wish to remain alive._

_You have been warned._

_- The Opera Ghost _

DeVillier slid the note back into the envelope and cleared his throat.

"Well?" the Comte asked, in a passionate fury.

"Well," the manager responded, "I suggest that you obey his demands."

The Comte looked at deVillier as though he were insane. "Obey his demands!" he exclaimed. "Monsieur- I refuse to be bounded by the whims of some deranged lunatic who calls himself a ghost! We must catch this phantom at once!"

deVillier didn't respond. In truth, he was a firm believer that the ghost was just that- a ghost- and couldn't be caught by even an army of humans.

"I do not think that wise, Monsieur Comte," deVillier said. "But do as you will."

With that, he left, leaving the Comte still seething.

It was then that Rachelle L'hereux chose to stride over to where he stood.

With a toss of her dark auburn locks, she said, "So the Opera Ghost has contacted you, has he?"

"Yes," he responded darkly.

The prima donna smiled secretively.

"Well, Monsieur Comte, it seems we have something in common," she said coyly. "For the Opera Ghost has contacted me, as well."

She took out the envelope that was exactly identical to the one that the Comte held in his hand.

He took it from her incredulously, and skimmed over it quickly.

"What do you make of this?" he asked.

Rachelle shrugged. "I think a better question is what do you plan to do about him?"

"I'm not sure," he responded.

"What if I told you that I could help you track him down?"

"What do you know about it?" the Comte snapped.

"Something that may benefit you. But don't think that I'm fool enough to tell you everything I know so you can take all the glory of capturing the phantom. If you want to catch him, you'll have to trust me. We'll have to work together." She cocked her head inticingly.

The Comte mulled the possibility over in his mind. It certainly was tempting... to be the one to bring the Phantom of the Opera to justice at last. His thoughts strayed to Meg, whom he found himself falling for, though they had only spoken once. He had heard it whispered that it had been the Opera Ghost who had tried to kill them the previous day. Maybe, he thought, if he captured the phantom, he would seem a better man in Meg's eyes. She would see that he had saved her from a terrible fiend, she would be grateful, and then perhaps… the Comte liked the possibilities.

He nodded, to Rachelle's delight.

In her own mind, she knew that she wasn't exactly playing with a full deck; she didn't know for sure if Meg Giry could lead her to the Opera Ghost, but she would play that as her trump card until she knew otherwise.

And she would make the Comte see her... _many uses_, she thought to herself with satisfaction.

* * *

Far from the plot for his capture, the phantom was making plans of his own, to win Meg back. Everything, he knew, would hinge on perfect timing at the opening performance of Faust.

It was almost time, he thought.

For in two days time loomed Gala Night...

* * *

A/N: told you things would start heating up! So there are multiple conspiracies going on here, and all of them are more or less revolving around Meg. What's a girl to do, I ask you? ;) you'll have to wait and find out! 


	51. Gala Night

Chapter 50- Gala Night

A/N: Hey all! Treat for all the phantom phans- a lo-o-ong chapter! Seriously, it was like, 5 pages on Word. And i wrote it in 2 hours. not too shabby in my opinion!

just a note, Rachelle's dressing room is the same one that Carlotta and Christine had. Just so there's no confusion there!

Secondly, I wanted to take this time to say a huge thanks to all you guys who read and reviewed my story! I honestly never anticipated getting this many positive comments on my work (1000 reviews and counting! You guys are awesome!). I thank everyone who has sent me a review- and know that I take every one (even the flames) and learn from them!

With that, my response to some of you:

**Evil Elven Pirates**- YAAAAAAAYYYY! Another EEP on board! OMG when I read ur review and saw who it was, I like screamed! Wow… can't believe u read all of this… 'tis very long indeed! But I'm glad you dropped in and dropped me a review! So how's everything going? E-mail me sometime! Luv ya!

**Whispering Wind**- about your comments on the age thing: I guess the story is a little AU in that respect. I wanted Meg to be older in this story, because I wanted to sort of move her away from the "little Meg" stereotype, to show that she is old enough and mature enough to handle her relationship with Erik. About the lair: it isn't meant to be a carbon copy of what was in the movie. I sort of have this grand picture of what its like in my mind, and that comes through a lot in my description of it.

**Inkeepingsecrets**- thanks for your comments! Your e-mail address didn't come through in the review, so I'll say it here: I'm honored that you want to use my fic. Go right ahead- but send me the link so I'll know where it is!

**Brittanypiercey**- wow. Six HOURS? –hands Brittanypiercey a full batch of brownies- wow dear, you'll probably need those! Thanks so much for reading!

**Captain Oblivious**- right you are indeed. ;)

**Rue Marie**- Okay then. Sending muffins your way.

**Lover of Balto**- yes… retyping did suck… I would say hold off on your twitching for the moment… as you'll need to read this chapter!

* * *

Meg woke early on the morning of Faust.

Making her way to the theatre, she found the corridors of the Opera House humming with the sound of workers cleaning and preparing for the opening that evening. Upon entering the theatre, she found that it was already occupied by a few other dancers. Slipping on her ballet slippers, Meg began to stretch her legs out on the _barre_. As she extended one leg and bent the other, she let her eyes close and think past the light throbbing pains that shot through her leg. This stretching routine was so familiar it was instinct; she had been doing the same thing since she had been young. By the time she finished, the other performers had arrived, and the final dress rehearsal began...

* * *

Later that evening, in the depths of the Opera, Erik could sense that it was almost time for an Opera. Even in the cellars, he could hear the thundering pulsations of many carriages pulling up to the front entrance. He could hear the strains of the orchestra that drifted through the haunted corridors of his labyrinth. The mellow tone of the oboe and clarinets, the light, lilting trill of the flutes... each note and vibration resonated in Erik's mind... the music called him, the music beckoned him. And Erik went willingly, unable to resist sweet music's call. Throwing his black evening cloak over his shoulders, and securing the white porcelain mask over half of his face, the Phantom stepped into his gondola and set off to the theatre...

* * *

The Comte de Reinoir arrived at the Opera a half-hour before it was set to begin. He was met almost immediately by the managers, DeVillier and Longfellow, and the other affluent patrons, who would all be sharing a box that night.

"Good evening, Monsieur le Comte!" Longfellow said with gusto. "And welcome to the Opera Populaire!" He laughed jovially and made a sweeping motion with his hand.

The Comte removed his top hat as the small group entered the Opera House. It had been largely restored to the standard of its former grandeur- the grand staircase was polished a deep mahogany color, and the marble stairs were gleaming, with a red carpet that divided them down the middle. The statues that ascended with the stairs stood tall and proud, as if ready to welcome the people back to the Opera once again. The main entranceway was alive with the quiet hum of conversation, as old friends greeted one another, and new acquaintances were made. As he entered the main theatre, the Comte cast a wary glance around him, just in case...

* * *

Backstage, Rachelle L'hereux was getting ready.

In her dressing room, a maid was finishing pinning up her hair into an elaborate arrangement.

"Claudette," Rachelle asked the maid, "what do you know of the Phantom of the Opera?"

"Not much, mademoiselle," the maid responded. "But I did hear tell that the managers left open Box 5 for him."

"Why?"

"Well... 'cause he asked for it, I suppose."

"Do you think he'll be here, tonight?"

"Between you and me, mademoiselle, I'll say this: the phantom of the opera never misses a performance."

Rachelle's painted lips curled into a triumphant sneer.

"Perfect," she said to herself.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, the curtain rose on the first act of Faust.

Meg danced across the stage with such passion, it was as though she had been electrified by the brightness of the stage lights and the presence of the audience. It was performing in front of people that Meg lived for. There was something about being on stage, face glowing in the limelight. Every care or worry you had in the outside world would vanish as you heard the music began to play, she thought. You would smile, looking out into a sea of black silhouettes, all of which were watching you...

Erik observed Meg from his seat in the shadows of Box 5, which, to his delight had been kept empty per his demands. She truly was beautiful, he thought, and tonight he would win her back.

_Well, not **win** exactly,_ he thought with an inward smile.

As the opera progressed, Erik found himself growing anxious. The more he saw Meg dancing, the more he longed for her. They had both been so stupid, he thought. They were both stubborn, and prideful at that.

He watched as she danced to center stage, on full _pointe_, flanked by two other ballerinas. Her face was strained with concentration as she held her position, but her presence on stage was calm and collected.

Rachelle L'hereux, Erik couldn't help noticing was also brilliant tonight. Her voice was as good as anything Erik had ever heard... but his eyes rarely left Meg.

Tonight he would make her his- forever.

* * *

Erik hadn't been the only one captivated by Meg.

When the curtain fell on the end of the first half of the show, the Comte applauded loudly with the rest of the audience. He felt like one coming out of a trance- he had been entirely transfixed by the young ballerina. She was all he could think of, and he sat in his seat, still feeling as though living a dream, until someone tapped him on the arm.

"Monsieur?" came the voice of an usher at his side. "A letter for you, Monsieur." The usher held out a small scrap of paper, as well as a small, cloth bag.

"Thank you," the Comte said, and the usher left.

He frowned at the note. _This had better not be any more Opera Ghost business, _he thought to himself. Then again, the note didn't bear the morbid skull seal, so he deemed it at least moderately safe to read.

He opened it to find (to his relief) that it was not from the Opera Ghost, but from Rachelle L'hereux.

It read thus:

_M. le Comte-_

_The Phantom of the Opera likes to watch the performance from Box 5. _

_-Rachelle L'hereux_

_P.S.: When he is dead, take the mask._

Box 5... the Comte thought, crinkling the parchment in his hand. So the Phantom was there tonight... Perhaps he could end all of this right now. He reached inside the cloth bag that Rachelle had sent. His fingers closed around something long, thin, and sharp.

A dagger.

He smiled at the diva's resourcefulness. She was proving to be of use to him after all.

Alone in his own box, the Comte thought out his plan. He would wait until the show resumed, and then he would go. He would move quietly to Box 5, armed with the dagger and then... His smile broadened.

The Phantom of the Opera would be dead by Act 4.

* * *

The curtain rose a few minutes later.

The Comte constantly stole glances over at the shadowy box where he was almost certain that the Phantom was sitting.

Finally, as Rachelle began to sing the ballad of the King of Thule, the Comte got up swiftly and left his box. The lush, red-carpeted hallways were deserted at this point in the show, and as he made his way toward the grand tier, the only sound that he could hear was his own rapidly beating heart, and the faint echo of Rachelle's voice.

_"Il était un Roi de Thulé_

_Qui, jusq'd la tombe fidéle,_

_Eut, en souvenir de sa bell,_

_Une coupe en or ciselé..."_

When the Comte arrived at Box 5, he paused for a moment, adjusting his grip on the dagger, and crossing himself with his right hand. With that, he slipped silently behind the curtain.

* * *

Rachelle was halfway through the ballad of the King of Thule when Erik heard a noise outside his box. Someone was out there, taking extra care to be silent. If he didn't move, he knew he'd be cornered...

* * *

The Comte stayed in the shadows as he crept toward the front of the box. There were three tall, high backed chairs by the railing; the Comte held his breath as he approached... the phantom would have to be in one of those chairs, he thought. Most likely the one nearest to where he stood- it was the one that was nearly completely hidden in the shadow of the velvet curtains.

In a ready stance, the Comte took one more step forward, and with one motion cleared the rest of the space to the chair, swinging his knife on a death-mark, straight into...

Nothing.

The chair was completely empty- as were the other two beyond it.

The box was completely deserted..

The Comte muttered an oath under his breath. Then, he felt two icy hands close around his neck. From the way they coiled themselves around his throat, the Comte knew that they were long and skeletal.

He struggled against the Phantom, knife flailing about wildly. The death-hands were quickly choking the life out of him; the Comte began to see spots and the world began to fade in and out of view.

The dagger fell from his hand, hitting the carpeted floor.

Erik knew that the Comte was nearing death; and there was nothing he wanted more than to leave the pitiful man's body there in Box 5, to serve as a warning to anyone else who dared to hunt the Opera Ghost.

But Meg's words rang in his head: _I will not stay with you if you let yourself become a murderer..._

He knew that he only had a few moments to decide; to spare the Comte's life or kill him now... and Meg's trust hung in the balance.

At the last possible second, before the Comte slipped from life, Erik released him, though as he stumbled to the floor, Erik rammed his head into the wooden arm of the chair to ensure his unconsciousness for at least a few hours.

He picked up the man's dagger and was about to throw it near the body, but then decided instead to pocket it for himself.

With that, he stepped over the Comte's body and swept out of the box.

It was time to prepare for tonight...

* * *

Faust came to its dramatic conclusion nearly an hour later, and the cast took their bows to a standing ovation. The managers, deVillier and Longfellow shook hands merrily, declaring their first production a success.

Afterwards, Rachelle scurried off to her dressing room, with the intention of going quickly to the gala party that was to be held in the main ballroom.

Upon entering her dressing room, she found a note.

_Mademoiselle L'hereux,_

_An astounding performance tonight! I look forward to seeing you at the gala tonight. Forgive me for my forwardness, but I greatly desire to speak with you. Meet me at the bottom of the main staircase as soon as you can. _

_Fondly,_

_Comte Etienne de Reinoir_

Rachelle sneered.

Her bargain was paying off for her already. Perhaps this meant that the Opera Ghost was dead. She hurriedly changed into a garish green gown and left the room.

From behind the mirror, Erik laughed to himself at her ignorance. The Comte wouldn't be there to meet her... Erik had penned the note himself. The dressing room had to be empty tonight...

He slipped open the mirror and stepped into the dressing room, putting out the numerous candles in the room so that it was darkened to his liking. Then, hiding himself once more in the shadows, he waited.

* * *

Meg dragged herself up to her room, tired and worn out, legs aching.

The performance had gone wonderfully; it had been devoid of many of the usual mishaps that would commonly occur backstage. Everything had been perfect. She was about to throw herself onto her bed, when she noticed a note lying on her pillow.

Frowning, she picked it up.

_Mademoiselle Giry,_

_Something has come to my attention that I must discuss with you. Please meet me in my dressing room at eleven thirty tonight. _

Rachelle 

_Odd,_ thought Meg. _What would she possibly want with me?_

Looking at the small clock on her nightstand, she saw that it was nearing eleven thirty now.

Sighing in frustration, she shrugged off her ballet costume and put on a black dress. She smiled for a moment, thinking how she was becoming like her mother; dressing in black and defending the name of the Opera Ghost.

Then, pushing a flyaway strand of blonde hair out of her eyes, she set off to Rachelle's dressing room.

She arrived to find the door shut.

Meg knocked wearily. "Rachelle? It's Meg," she called out.

There was no answer.  
Her arms broke out with gooseflesh under the sleeves of her gown. Some internal instinct hinted of danger.

"Rachelle?" she said, more loudly.

Hesitantly, she pushed the door open.

"Rachelle? Are you here?"

The room was completely darkened.

Meg's heart began to pound unpleasantly in her chest. She heard a swift movement behind her; the door shut and the lock clicked.

Then, from out of nowhere, an arm wrapped around her waist, and a hand was clamped over her mouth to muffle her scream...

* * *

A/N: Guess who? -wink ;) Sorry for the cliffie there, you guys. But I told you they'd be back together soon; I didn't say it would be happy, though. But have faith! Now I want everyone to review and let me know where I should take this from here! Send me ideas! This story lives off of reviews! It really does. So lemme know what you think!

Also: this will be my last post for probably at least a week... because I'm going on vacation and will sadly be completely excommunicated from the fan fiction world /-sigh-/ But fear not... for after staying up long past midnight, chapter 52 is in the works, so at least i won't have to start from nothing after i get back! So Read, Review, and ... well you know what to do!


	52. Struggle

Chapter 51- Struggle

A/N: I'll be honest when I say that this chapter's got some heavy stuff, emotionally speaking. There's a LOT of angst, so brace yourselves. But I had fun writing it, so do let me know what you think...

* * *

Meg knew exactly who it was that held her-and she didn't like it at all.

She struggled against Erik- kicking and clawing and trying to bite the hand that was held over her mouth.

"Be silent!" Erik hissed into her ear. "You cannot fight me!"

Meg wanted to say, _I'll be damned if I don't go kicking and screaming_, but the hand over her mouth prevented her from doing so. Erik began to move her toward the mirror, which, she now realized, stood ajar. Once they were behind it, he replaced the glass and freeing Meg's vocal chords, began to pull her down the tunnel by the wrist. Wryly, he thought that it was a paradox that this was happening again...

Meg wasted no time once she had her voice back. "Erik!" she yelled furiously. "What-the-hell-are-you-doing?"

"Making you listen!" he snarled back, pulling her harder and faster down the tunnel.

She struggled against him. "Let me go! I have no desire to be here with you! I made my choice and I stand by it. Erik!"

Erik didn't listen.

When they reached the lair, Meg was beginning to think that Erik had gone mad.

"Don't you understand?" she yelled. "There is nothing more between us! Whatever was there is dead and gone!"

Erik stopped suddenly, whirled around, and gripped Meg by the shoulders. "No!" he roared. "It is not dead! You will love me and you will stay down here until you do!"

Meg looked horrified. Her tone of voice lowered so that he could barely hear her. "Is this what you told Christine? Is this how you tried to show your love for her, too? She refused to be your prisoner, Erik, and so do I."

"You have no choice," he responded dully. A few stray pieces of his dark hair fell across his eyes, but he made no move to brush them away.

"So this is it?" Meg asked in despair. "This is what you've become- this is what you've resorted to? You've destroyed any chances you ever had for me to come to you willingly, so you plan to force me, is that it? Why don't you just take what you want?" she asked, voice hardening. "I'm here, aren't I? I'm standing before you, in the flesh. I'm defenseless. Why don't you just take what you want... why do you have to torture me like this?"

Erik's face turned pale, and Meg noticed that he was trembling.

Meg continued her tirade. "Do you mean to kill me, Erik?" she asked. "Or are you just going to watch as I decay, away from the sun and away from life? Take your pick... my life is in your evil, twisted hands now, and you're choking it from me with every minute!"

Suddenly, Erik was inches from her. He grasped her face in his hands roughly. "God damn it- why do you do this to me?" he hissed, shaking her. "Why do you act as though I want to hurt you? I have a heart, Meg!" he said, voice cracking with emotion. He grabbed Meg by the hands and pulled her to his chest, placing her hand on his shirt. "Feel it, Meg!" he cried, "Feel my heart that has been torn and broken for so many years! First... her... and now you... Feel it, Meg- feel the heart that bleeds for _you_!"

Meg felt an emotion surge through her- something that fell halfway between fear, pity, and love. Hot tears threatened her eyes. She could feel Erik's heart, beneath her hand- it rang out in a rapid symphony with her own.

Erik went on. "You think I mean to kill you? For the love of God... I could never harm you, Meg! Do you not understand that! I couldn't... I couldn't..." He fell to his knees, and Meg saw, to her astonishment, tears running down his cheeks. "Why, Meg?" he cried. "Why don't you understand?" he whispered in a voice choked with pain so intense that it seemed inhuman.

Meg stood over the pitiful creature before her, in a state of subdued shock. This was the man who not a half-hour ago had kidnapped her from her room and dragged her down into hell. This was the man who had threatened her, who had made her a prisoner; and now he was reduced to...

_A man_, Meg thought. _Only a man_.

And in his twisted way, she saw, that it was all because he loved her.

She knelt down beside him. He kept his head down, avoiding her eyes.   
They sat silently for a moment. Neither of them seemed willing to make the first move, but Meg could feel the tension building between them with each second.

"Erik," Meg said finally.

"Would it be so hard?" he asked shakily. "-to love a monster?" He touched his mask involuntarily.

"Your face does not make you a monster, Erik."

"But I am a monster, Meg," he said darkly. "Every night in my dreams I'm haunted by the things that I've done. The faces... the voices... I can't- I can't..." He shuddered. "Its worse since you left... every night...I've failed you, haven't I?" he asked suddenly, in a strained, shaky voice.

"Failed me?" Meg raised an eyebrow.

"Everything... I never wanted any of it to happen like this. I just wanted- I just wanted your love. I didn't want to have to bring you here like this... all I've done is make you fear me, and I-"

Meg put a finger over his lips. His words were so honest and contrite; they broke down the walls that she had built around her heart. "Swear to me now, Erik," she said, "Swear that you love me, and I will stay with you forever."

He looked up with astounded eyes, not believing what she was saying. "Do you mean that?" he asked.

She nodded solemnly.

"I swear to God that I love you, Meg," he whispered, looking into her eyes pleadingly.

Her own tears began to spill over as Meg undid his mask and cast it aside so that his whole face was exposed. She leaned in and kissed his marred cheek.

"I'm so sorry, Erik," she breathed into his ear tenderly. "I'm sorry for being so stupid. I love you..."

He clung to her desperately, as though letting her go would make her disappear forever.

As she held Erik in her arms, Meg marveled at how he had completely transformed before her eyes. How he could be so powerful and commanding one minute, and so needy and desperate the next.

Meg suddenly felt guilty.

She had always known that she loved him- why had she let herself leave without the intention of returning?

Her thoughts reeled to the future. She had just promised never to leave Erik again. Her heart did a strange somersault. She had just pledged to spend her life down here, she thought, in the dark, with the phantom. Did she want to?

_Yes. _

_But why?_ Her mind challenged.

_I love him_, she responded automatically.

_Enough to sacrifice living?_

_Yes. _

_No._

_Yes._

Meg felt as though she was drowning in her muddled thoughts. Then, a calm thought overtook her: _Let it go... just forget everything_.

Her head and limbs suddenly felt like lead. Sleep was descending on her, faster than she could stop it. The emotion from the day was swallowing her; the room was focusing in and out of view.

A moment later, Meg's mind knew no more...

* * *

A/N: wow this was the chapter that WOULD NOT END. I realize that some of you might think that having Meg pass out there at the end is corny... but I really had no better way to end it... i sat at my computer for over an hour, typing stuff and then erasing it. But look on the bright side- they're all set up for some fluff now, so all you fluff lovers, be happy.

Bea05- ah…. you caught my dumb mistake. I realized it after it was posted… that certain things didn't line up in those regards. Anyway… it's difficult to explain the way I see it working… the passage was always there, but it was blocked by the fallen rocks. But yeah… I probably will edit that out or change it in the end.

Daroga Daae- love the long review! Hope I did an ok job on this chapter.

Empathicdreamer- hmmm….. good idea… very good idea. Maybe I'll use it- though I already have something planned for our dear phantom…. won't say anything more there, though.


	53. Questions

Chapter 52- Questions

A/N: Hey everyone! This is one of those… in between chapters… next chappie will have more action- I swear it on my copy of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince which is sitting right here. Anyway, I have to say is THANK YOU GUYS SOOO MUCH for all your reviews... the day I posted the previous chapter, I had come home from a nasty day at work... and all of your reviews made me smile... so thanks! I love all you guys out there!

* * *

Erik opened his eyes a few hours later to find that he and Meg were still holding each other; half sitting, half-laying on the floor of the cave. He let out a shaky breath, still laced with traces of the previous nights' tears. Gently, he shifted his position, picking her up in his arms. He carried her into her bedroom and laid her onto the red satin-covered bed.

Standing over her for a moment, he let himself bask in the sheer fact that Meg was still there.

When the moment passed over him, he turned to leave.

A small, fragile voice on the air stopped him.

"Don't go away," Meg whispered.

Erik turned back.

Meg beckoned him back to her side, and he went like an obedient child.

Erik sat down beside her and took her hand, entwining their fingers together. "I'm sorry for last night," he began, not meeting her eyes. He kept his gaze on their hands.

"I know," Meg said softly. "But you did frighten me."

"I never wanted to," he said brokenly. "But you wouldn't listen any other way."

"Shhh," she whispered. "I don't want to talk about it now. Just hold me, Erik. Please. That's all I need..."

Erik took her securely in his arms, turning her body so that she faced him. Meg rested her head against his chest.

"Are you really going to stay here... with me?" he asked.

"I promised you, didn't I?" Meg responded.

"Promises can be false."

Meg raised her head to look at him. "Well this one isn't," she said firmly.

A look of relief passed over Erik's face.

Moments lapsed by, without conversation. Still, Meg could sense that Erik was on edge about something.

"Meg?" he murmured.

"Mmmm?"

"Would you marry me?"

Meg's heart stopped. That was the singularly last question she had expected... she had no idea what to say. For a brief moment, she wondered why the thought of marriage had never come up before in her mind. _Why not?_ she thought. _You promised that you would stay with him... forever. Why not just be his wife as well? _She knew the answer to that question- she wasn't ready to bind herself to Erik like that yet. He had given her reasons to run before... if they were married, there would be no way to escape if she needed to. She thought of the rest of her life spent here in the Opera House dungeons. There was no doubt in her mind that she loved Erik... but the thought of making something in her life so permanent frightened her.

"Erik... I..." she faltered.

A small glimmer in his eyes died as he felt her body go rigid. "I should not have asked," he said quickly. "Forgive me. I can imagine why you would be repulsed at the idea of being my wife." He did not say this sarcastically, but with a strained heaviness to his voice- a tone of defeat.

"No..." she whispered. "I didn't mean it to sound like that. But we can't... we can't just rush into this."

"You mean you would-"

"Yes."

That singular word sent Erik's heart soaring. A smile that even he could not suppress broke out across his face. He lowered his head and captured Meg's lips in a gentle kiss. She kissed him back eagerly, wrapping her arms around his neck.

"I love you," he murmured against her lips.

"I know," she responded.

Suddenly, Meg jerked away with a gasp.

"What is it?" Erik asked, startled.

"I should go," she said. "They'll wonder where I am."

Erik frowned. "I don't care about them," he growled lowly.

"Well I have to care about them," Meg retorted, rolling out of bed. "Unless you want other incriminating rumors to start circulating about the Opera Ghost. The incidents of the past are not that far from memory, Erik. It would only take one person's recollection to bring hell down on us once again."

His frown deepened, but he knew Meg was right. "Go then," he said. "But you _will_ return tonight."

"I'll try," Meg promised.

Grudgingly, Erik helped her into the gondola and began to row down the underground channels.

With one final kiss on the shore, Meg hurried back to the world above.

As she made her way toward the mirror, a single mantra played over and over in her mind, _I'm going to be Erik's wife... I'm going to be Erik's wife..._ Her heart fluttered each time she thought of it.

* * *

When she reached the mirror, she slowed her step cautiously. She would have to take care that no one was in the room when she emerged. Rachelle's dressing room was thankfully empty, and she was able to slip out easily. Consulting the small clock on a table by the door, Meg realized that it was after nine o'clock; the other dancers would be at the stage by now, practicing and preparing for another performance of Faust that evening.

She hurried into the theatre to see the rehearsal well under way- with another ballerina dancing her part.

When the music stopped, Meg hurried over to Madame Bisset.

"Mademoiselle Giry!" the ballet instructor's voice pierced the air. "Where have you been? Rehearsals began a half hour ago." Her voice was stern, and her eyes unforgiving.  
"I am sorry, Madame," Meg said, looking down at her pointe shoes.

"As am I," replied the instructor, "that Paris will not see you dance the lead tonight."

With that, she woman strode off.

Meg's heart sank as her footsteps died away. She knew that she should be punished for being late to the rehearsal, but it still stung to think of someone else dancing her part. She didn't have time to brood; a moment later, Juliet hurried over to Meg's side.

"Meg, thank heavens! Nobody could find you after the performance last night- where were you; we were ever so worried! Especially after what happened to the Comte."

"What happened to him?" Meg asked suddenly.

"Oh dear... you didn't hear?"

"No. What happened?"

"He was found in Box 5 after the opera."

Icy fingers of fear squeezed Meg's heart. "Dead?" she breathed. Please God, she prayed, don't let Erik have killed him.

"Not exactly," came a masculine voice from behind her.

Meg whirled around to see none other than the Comte himself standing behind her.

"Monsieur le Comte," she said, startled. "What happened?"

"I was attacked," he said gravely. "I was attacked by the Phantom of the Opera."

"What did he do?" Juliet asked excitedly.

"He was hiding in the box, waiting. When I entered, he jumped out, carrying a great long knife. His long, dead fingers took me by the neck- I fought him as best as I could... almost beat him... but then he knocked me out with something and fled."

"You're lucky to be alive," Juliet said breathlessly.

Meg, however, was not as amused by his story. "What were you doing in Box 5 during the Opera?" she asked.

"What difference does that make?" he countered.

"Haven't you heard the stories of the Phantom of the Opera, Monsieur? Its common knowledge that he haunts Box 5 during the performances. You must have been looking for death to attempt entering the box. So why did you do it?"

"Someone must bring the Phantom of the Opera to justice, Meg," the Comte responded.

Meg winced at the familiar way he addressed her. "What makes you think that the Phantom is a man?" she retorted. "I have it on good authority that he is not a man, but a ghost."

"And whose authority is that?"

"What does it matter- I've been here at the Opera longer than you have. What makes you think you know anything about the Phantom?"

"What do you know that I don't?" the Comte pressed.

"Nothing that I would tell," Meg said. "But know this," she said. "The phantom of the Opera destroyed my world and this theatre when he crashed the chandelier. I have rebuilt it since then, and the last thing I want to see is his wrath brought down upon us again."

She turned and walked away.

"One final question, Meg." the Comte stopped her.

"Yes?"

"Where were you then, last night?"

Meg hesitated. When she opened her mouth to speak, a lie poured from within her so quickly that she marveled at how easy it was. "I was called away right after the performance- my aunt has fallen ill across the city... she is my last living relative, Monsieur, I had to see her. Now if you'll excuse me, Monsieur le Comte, I must be going."

Without another word, Meg walked away.

The Comte stared after her. The girl perplexed him, but that only deepened his admiration of her.

Seconds later, another presence appeared at his arm.

"Strange, isn't she?" Rachelle piped up. "She acts as though she knows something... something she refuses to tell." A sneer curled across her painted lips. "I can find out the truth," she said. "I'll learn her secret. Perhaps that can be used to your benefit..."

"Perhaps..." the Comte mused under his breath, watching from a distance as Meg, head held high, began to dance.

* * *

A/N: more scheming on behalf of our Comte and his diva sidekick... what on earth will those two do next? I'll have another update for you guys soon! 


	54. Suspicion

Chapter 53- Suspicion

A/N: sorry about the delay guys... my life got really busy all at once... so this chapter is kind of short, but I think you'll like it. I have come up with a plan for the ending, which should be coming sometime in the foreseeable future, but not too soon. I still have a LOT of this story left to tell. So keep reading & reviewing! Luv to you all!

* * *

As the sun began to set over Paris, the Opera Populaire once again began to fill with a colorful stream of the members of the city's high society.

Backstage, Meg was dressed in the costume of the other chorus girls; she was just another dancing girl, she thought dully as she powdered her face chalk-white.

Just then, Madame Bisset strode over briskly to where Meg sat.

"Get up, Mademoiselle Giry," the woman said.

"Yes madame?"

"You will be dancing the lead tonight after all," she said, through tightly drawn lips. "I suggest you acquire your proper costume."

She left Meg with a dumbfounded look on her face, as the blonde ballerina tried to figure out what had prompted the woman to change her mind. Perhaps Erik had had a hand in it, she thought with a secret smile. How he would have found out was beyond her knowing, but then, she thought, how often did regular human beings understand the ways of the elusive Phantom of the Opera?

Quickly, she slipped into her costume, finishing the final touches on her stage makeup only moments before the curtain was set to rise.

The show went on without incident; though Erik left Box 5 empty, should the Comte decide to make another attempt on his life. The man was a fool, thought Erik as he watched from a handy spot in the rafters. It was well out of sight of the stagehands, and only accessible from climbing the ropes, which he doubted that any of the mostly pot-bellied men would be able to attempt. Rachelle's voice was (as always) impressive, and Meg was outstanding dancing the lead.

When the final curtain fell, Erik made himself scarce, moving like a shadow down from the rafters. He made quick time to Rachelle's dressing room. He knew that it would be empty; there was always at least an hour of mingling after each performance, where the public fawned over the prima donna. Erik rolled his eyes, and ducked into the mirror.

* * *

The party following the performance was always an enjoyable affair, Meg thought. Except when the affluent opera patrons fawned over Rachelle.

"Its pathetic, isn't it?" Juliet whispered in Meg's ear. "If they only knew what she was like in real-life."

Meg smiled, saying nothing.

"What's on your mind, Meg?" Juliet asked. "You've been awfully quiet all day, and you can't stop smiling."

Meg's cheeks flushed a little, and she prayed Juliet wouldn't notice. "Nothing," she said lamely. "It's nothing, Juliet."

Juliet didn't believe her- Meg could see it written all over her face.

"I was just... happy because I... last night I visited my aunt... in another part of Paris... she's got a bit of money saved and she wants to help me buy my own apartment in the city," Meg fibbed. Not the most creative lie... but Juliet looked as though she believed it.

"Oh," she said, "That's wonderful, Meg."

"I know. I don't like living here in the Opera," she said, "too many memories."

Juliet looked suddenly uncomfortable. "What happened that night?" she asked. "The night that the Phantom of the Opera... you know..."

Meg felt an uneasy tension in her stomach. "Well..." she said, keeping her voice down. "It happened so fast... the chandelier crashed, and that was the end of it."

"But I heard he captured a young singer. Did she ever escape? Or is her corpse rotting in the bowels of the opera?" she asked, unable to suppress an excited smile.

Meg gave her a pained look; the young redhead reminded Meg of herself a year or so ago- obsessed with wild stories and possessing a vivid imagination.

"She got away," Meg said. "He let her go."

"He did?" Juliet asked incredulously.

Meg nodded. "He let her go unharmed, Juliet. I don't think he's as terrible as people think he is."

"Well I would certainly hope I'm not," came a smug voice from behind her. Meg rolled her eyes as the Comte appeared at her elbow. "Good evening, Mademoiselle Giry," he said in a would-be suave voice.

"Good evening, Monsieur," Meg responded with false sweetness.

The Comte looked at Juliet. "Would you mind giving Marguerite and I alone, Mademoiselle?" he asked.

Juliet smiled and nodded, winking at Meg as she left.

The Comte took Meg by the arm, leading her through the crowd. "You were amazing tonight as the lead, Meg," he said.

"Thank you," she replied stiffly.

"Its a good thing someone spoke up in your favor."

Meg stopped walking.

The Comte smiled. "Yes, my dear- it was me who convinced that ballet instructor to give you back your part."

"Oh," said Meg, trying to hide her surprise. "Well then, I thank you, _Monsieur_. Now if you'll excuse me."

"Not so fast, Mademoiselle," he said. "It seems as though you've been avoiding me. Is that true?"

"Now why would I do a thing like that?" Meg asked, sarcasm dripping off of each word.

"Meg, Meg, Meg," the Comte shook his head tauntingly. He bent his head to whisper in her ear. "I know you're hiding something. And I'm going to find out what it is. Mark my words."

"Consider them marked," Meg said. "Now... let me go or I'll scream."

To her surprise, the Comte let her go. "You've got spirit, Mademoiselle. But do not forget my words. It will be worse for you if you do."

With one last nod, he left.

Meg stared after him, fear beginning to claw at her insides. The Comte suspected her... what would she do if he found out about Erik? She would have to be careful from now on, she thought. Or she and Erik would be the ones to pay.

* * *

"She's hiding something, Rachelle," the Comte mused. It was much later, in a small antechamber of the Opera House. There was a fire crackling in the fireplace, two armchairs sitting before it. Rachelle L'hereux occupied one, and the other one was deserted as the Comte paced frantically about the room.

"I don't know what it is," he continued. "But there's something. I want to find out what it is."

Rachelle rolled her eyes. "Considering that we just went over this a few hours ago... I am wondering if there is any other point to this conversation?"

"Find out what it is she's hiding, Rachelle. And I'm upping the stakes." He pulled a wad of money from the inside of his evening jacket. "I want answers, as soon as possible. Can you do it?"

Rachelle stood up and snatched the money from his hand. "Consider it done," she said smoothly.

Much later that night, after the gathering had ended, Meg slipped out of the front doors of the Opera, before turning down the alleyway to the secret passageway. She found the trapdoor, lit a candle, and stepped inside, unaware that from her room two stories above, Rachelle L'hereux was watching her every move.

* * *

A/N: Okay guys... please don't hurt me /.../pulls covers over head and hides/.../

REVIEW!


	55. Interlude

Chapter 55- Interlude

A/N: Wow…. A whole month since my last post! I honestly can not tell you guys how much I'm sorry… my life has seriously been so busy this august… its almost unreal. Between school and work and everything in between, I didn't have time to write much of anything. The upside to that though, is that I've finalized what's going to happen…. And alas, the end is near. Perhaps six or seven more chapters… maybe more, maybe less. Depends on where my muse takes me! Also… if anyone wants to email me, the name is steelphantom713 at aim dot com. So now you guys can flood me with angry emails when I don't update fast enough! Anyway, I hope you guys are still out there- tasha, I'm not dead! Please R&R!

Luvs!

* * *

The interior of the passage was dark and slimy, but the thought of returning to Erik kept Meg from dwelling on it. The Comte's words still caused her to feel an uncomfortable sinking feeling whenever she recalled them, but she had resolved not to tell Erik. She knew that if she did, someone would meet an untimely end at the mercy of a Punjab lasso. She walked on through the passageway, thinking, but finding herself unable to keep her mind on a specific thought. The past few nights seemed to flash before her at intervals of a few seconds. When she reached the door at the end of the tunnel, Erik was already waiting for her. She fell into his arms, weary but happy to be in his embrace again.

"You were wonderful tonight, as always," Erik said lowly in her ear.

Meg smiled. "I danced for you tonight," she replied.

When they arrived back at the lair, Erik walked over to the organ. "I want you to hear something," he said quietly, sitting down at the bench and taking out a new-looking sheet of staff paper, with music written in red ink. Meg perched herself in a chair close to the organ, curious. Erik began to play; the music flowed from the pipes, reverberating around the chamber. The melody was mournful at first, slow and sad, before building to a great crescendo, so loud that it was almost painful. As he played, his nimble fingers gliding over the keys as though they had played the piece a thousand times before, Erik's eyes were closed as though he were lost in some far-off world, where only he and his music existed. The loud music began to ebb off, going soft again. Meg was entranced. Erik's genius far surpassed any of the other composers of the age, she thought as she listened. Just then, Meg felt the music take on a new tone. The innocent softness was gone again… the notes that rang out now from the organ were fierce and passionate… notes that seemed to be on fire. Meg's heart began to beat faster as the music again intensified. The music was alive… it made her _feel_… it seemed to be crying out in terrible anguish for someone to hear it…. And then it was as though something had been awakened inside of her. Feelings were beginning to emerge deep within her… desire that swelled up like fire, dangerous and consuming. In the back of her mind, she knew that Erik had probably done this to make her feel this way… he was trying to make her forget rationality and give in to… what she knew she wanted. More consciously, she realized that she didn't care. His music spoke to her- the notes that he wrote held no secrets; they were a confession of the soul- of Erik's soul.

Then, all at once, the music stopped. The sudden absence of sound left Meg feeling so empty, left her yearning so badly for more…

"No," she said, in a half-trancelike state, "Erik, don't stop…"

"It's not finished yet," he said in a quiet voice, unlike his own. "I tried to end it… but the notes wouldn't come out right…"

"Well," said Meg, standing up from where she had been sitting, "maybe I can help inspire you…"

She covered his lips with hers, wasting no time in deepening the kiss. Erik offered no resistance- he was just as lost in the kiss as she was. Meg shifted so that she was sitting on his lap, arms wrapped around his neck, unwilling to let their lips part. She felt Erik's hands move down her back, coming to rest at the base of her spine. He held her close to him, possessively, as though he needed affirmation that she was his and his alone. Meg pulled away for a moment, undoing Erik's mask and casting it aside. She touched his deformity lovingly, feeling him shiver beneath her touch, still unused to such contact. Erik claimed her lips once more, slowly teasing them with his tongue until she allowed him entrance. He reached up and let her golden hair fall out of the bun that had held it up, so that it cascaded down her back, falling in soft curls around her shoulders.

After a few more moments, Meg pulled back, breathing staggered and erratic.

"What is it?" Erik asked.

"We shouldn't…" she said, "not now… someone is bound to notice I'm not in bed…"

"Who cares about everyone?" Erik questioned stubbornly, leaning forward to kiss her again. She gave into his kiss, unable to resist.

"Forget them, Meg," Erik prompted, trailing kisses down her neck, tracing the outline of her collarbone with one of his fingers.

"Erik, I… can't," she whispered. "Please…" She pushed him away as gently as she could. "Erik, we have to worry about 'them'. People are already suspicious of me… lying can only get me so far." She hesitated; the incident with the Comte earlier swam to the surface of her thoughts.

Erik sighed. "Is this all we'll ever be, Meg?" he asked. "Something hidden in darkness, always afraid of being caught?"

Meg gave him a pained look. "Things will get better, Erik, I promise… once Faust is over with, we can run away… we can get out of Paris. We can go somewhere where no one knows us…"

Erik pondered this. Leave Paris… leave the Opera House… _his _ Opera House. To leave the only place that he had ever been able to call home was… frightening.

"You would give up your career?" he asked. "You would sacrifice being the prima ballerina for… for us?"

"Of course," she said. She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him, resting her head against his chest. "I'm nothing without you, Erik. You're all I have… my only family now."

_Family…_ Erik marveled at how foreign the word sounded to him. He had never had a family to call his own- only his mother… and she hadn't counted for much in the few years that he had been in her care. As he held Meg, Erik began to think about all the time he had spent… completely and utterly cut off from the rest of the world.

And now to think that he wouldn't have to spend the rest of his life alone… Impatient as he was, he thought, he could wait. They had forever, after all.

"All right," he said finally, looking down into Meg's blue eyes. "Faust closes in three days. We'll leave then, that night. I'll make arrangements…"

Meg raised a questioning eyebrow. "And how, may I ask, do you plan to do that?"

"I'm the Phantom of the Opera, aren't I?" he asked. "My ways are mysterious… yet efficient," he added, smiling.

"Just please don't get caught," Meg said, a tremor of worry in her voice.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Erik responded, leaning in to kiss Meg once more.

Meg sighed, half-happy and half-melancholic.

"Are you certain you can't stay?" Erik asked, a hopeful note in his voice.

"Erik… please don't tempt me, you know I can't," Meg responded. "We'll be together soon enough."

She put her arms around him one last time, and as he rested his chin on the top of her blonde head, he prayed that the next three days would pass quickly…

* * *

The tunnel that connected the cellar to the back of the Opera House was extremely well hidden. As she crept down to where she had seen the ballet rat earlier, Rachelle L'hereux desperately wished that she had brought a lantern with her. The pall darkness that surrounded her was black as dark velvet; the lights from the street lamps didn't penetrate down the skinny alleyway behind the Opera House. After several moments of searching, Rachelle still turned up with nothing. Frustrated, the diva placed her hands on her hips, lips pursed into a frown. _I could have sworn it was here,_ she thought. She was about to give up, when she heard a faint shuffling noise… She ducked behind an old, discarded crate, and waited. There was silence for a second, and then, seemingly out of nowhere, Meg Giry emerged from the side of the Opera House. Rachelle watched pensively as the short blonde looked around warily once, then headed for the back stage door, entering noiselessly.

Once the street was deserted again, Rachelle stepped out of her hiding place, and walked over to where Meg had just come from. And that was when she saw it. Perfectly disguised as the side of the building was the entrance to the passage.

Pulling it open, Rachelle hesitated for a moment in front of the black, gaping hole, and stepped inside.

* * *

A/N: Dun dun dunnnnnn….. wow, I'm being badddd with this cliffhanger thing. I'll try to put up the next chapters up faster than I put this one up… but now that school's back in, I have so much homework that I don't have time to BREATHE! Will respond to reviews next time! Promise! 


	56. Turning Point

Chapter 56- Turning Point

A/N: I'm baaaack! And I think we're about ready to start the final stage toward the culmination of the story. Whether or not the ending will be happy, I'm not saying yet. My mind is truly crazy… anything could happen. So keep reading and reviewing! And if anyone wants to contact me, send e-mails to steelphantom713 (at) aim. com !

A note: this chapter is short, but its important, I promise!

* * *

About fifty paces into the underground tunnel, Rachelle L'hereux stopped. She was at a three-way fork in the corridors and, having no insight on which to take, decided to turn back. She would use the discovery to her advantage when she saw the Comte the next day, she thought. She was almost sure beyond any shadow of a doubt that this passage would indeed lead her to the infamous Phantom of the Opera's lair. Tomorrow, she thought, the mystery of the "ghost" would be revealed at last and she, Rachelle L'hereux, would accept the glory that was sure to come from his capture.

* * *

"Intriguing," said the Comte, as he stroked his short goatee thoughtfully. It was the next morning at the Opera house; he had come early to meet with Rachelle before the daily rehearsals began. The pair were sitting in Rachelle's dressing room, sipping tea as the diva regaled him with her findings from the previous night. 

"So the entrance to the Phantom's lair has finally been found. You've done well, Rachelle."

Rachelle smiled seductively. "And your suspicion about the ballet rat having something to do with him is obviously true. She has a connection to this phantom… I would venture as far as to suspect a romance, even."

The Comte grimaced. "You can't be serious."

Rachelle gave him a look. "You can't rule out anything, Monsieur Comte."

"Please, Rachelle, it's Etienne."

"Of course."

"Anyway," the Comte went on, "The Phantom is supposed to be deformed, isn't he? Why on earth would such a beautiful girl love a male-formed creature obviously sent from hell?"

"Who knows. Let's just focus on capturing the Phantom. I've heard the authorities are willing to pay a vast sum for his capture…"

"Money doesn't matter," the Comte said.

"It does to me," Rachelle snapped.

"No…" he replied contemplatively. "I've got a better idea. We won't go to the police with him…" The Comte smiled. He had just thought of the perfect plan; a plan that would ensure that Meg would be his- forever.

* * *

Later that same day, Erik was down in his lair, making arrangements for he and Meg to leave Paris. He had managed to secure a carriage for them, and was now packing his possessions. He looked around the lair… his organ had been cleared of his music, quills and ink; it looked strangely bare. He sat down at the organ bench and touched the keys lovingly, a faraway look in his eye. This instrument, he thought, had been his only friend for years, his only way of expression. And now he was leaving it behind, along with the only home he had ever known. _Maybe we'll come back here someday,_ he thought. Maybe someday, months or even years from now, perhaps he and Meg could return to the Opera House. Erik smiled just thinking of Meg. They were so close… so close to putting everything that had happened so far between them in the past- they were so close to having a new life. In a day or so, things would be perfect. He could buy a new organ, wherever they were… but Meg's love was irreplaceable. 

He stood back up, taking with him the extra mask that was sitting next to the organ. As he laid it in one of the trunks, he could have sworn he heard a noise coming from somewhere nearby…

* * *

That night after yet another successful performance of Faust, Meg found herself heading toward the lair again. She felt a burning need to see Erik… she was anxious already about their departure in two short days. When she came to Rachelle's dressing room, she listened cautiously before opening the door and slipping inside. The room was thankfully devoid of any signs of the diva. Taking this to be a good omen, Meg slid open the mirror, replacing it carefully before setting off down the passage. When she reached the lakeshore, she stepped into the waiting boat and began to paddle across the glassy water. The candles were burning low on the opposite shore, she noticed as she neared. She didn't see Erik anywhere, but assumed that he was in one of the back rooms. As she slid the boat up onto the shore, however, she was overcome by a feeling that told her that something wasn't right. She stepped out of the boat, and realized that her hands had turned suddenly cold and were beginning to shake. It was too quiet… 

"Erik?" Meg called out softly. Her voice circulated through the chamber, reverberating off the stone cave walls, before dying. She shivered. "Erik?" she said again, louder this time, and with a pressing urgency. She moved over to where the hall lead back to the other rooms.

"Erik- where are you?" she asked, now frightened. "Come out… this isn't funny. Erik? Erik! Please come out… I need to know you're here!"

Panic began to surge through her. Where was he… he was always here.

_He's probably just out getting things ready to leave,_" she tried to assure herself. _There's no reason to be paranoid. He'll be back."_

"He'll be back," she said out loud. The words echoed throughout the cavern, and Meg felt a deep pang of sudden loneliness.

She turned back to go sit at the organ, when something caught her eye that made her heart freeze within her chest.

Erik's mask was lying on the ground, next to a message written in his handwriting.

With trembling hands, Meg knelt down to pick it up.

_Meg, _it read,

_By the time you find this, I may be dead. The Comte de Renoir succeeded in finding my lair tonight; he is standing over me as I write this to you. My love, I am so sorry that I have brought all of this upon you. I wanted our life together, Meg, but now it seems as though that dream is impossible. Please don't come looking for me… I do not wish to endanger you for any reason. Flee Paris… get as far away as you can, and wherever you go, remember me. _

_I love you… now and forever. _

_Erik _

Meg couldn't breathe… she felt as though everything in the world was spinning faster than she could comprehend. This wasn't happening… this couldn't be happening.She closed her eyes. _ It isn't true- it isn't true- it isn't true_, she repeated furiously, over and over again in her mind. But then the tears came, and she knew that somewhere in her conscious mind, she knew that it was. She picked up his mask that was lying beside where the letter had been, and sobbed even harder.

* * *

A/N: THIS IS NOT THE END! Next chapter: Meg goes after Erik, but will she be able to reach him in time? 

Review for me, and I promise to get the next chapter up ASAP!

Now, since I have put this off for far too long, here's my response to those who reviewed!

Christine8025- welcome aboard, and I'm glad you're enjoying my fic! Wow... if i pro writing major likes my story, i guess I'm doing something right, huh? I hope you keep reading, and feel free to point out any errors you might find!

Warriormaid3000- wow, congrats on being my longest review for this chappie! As for your comments on the fate of the characters... I'm not saying anything yet. You'll just have to wait and see the ending ;P Keep reviewing, because i heart reviews!

Bergerac- no, i didn't die. If i died, i would let you all know somehow... don't know how, but i would! lol

I Love Gerry- not as much Meg and Erik goodness... but there is drama! and much more angst to come. Hope it helps you through your school day, even if all you think about is how you want to kill your beloved author for the cliffie that she yet again leaves! Keep reviewing! (ps- I LOVE GERRY TOO!)

beata-beatrix- lol, you made me LAUGH with the whole "meg's in erik's pants" thing. (which could totally be interpreted in 2 different ways, my friend). thanx 4 the review! Also, thanks for going back and reviewing some of my past chapters! oh... and i believe i owe you a smartie cookie... /gives beata-beatrix a huge smartie cookie/

Catty0798- /takes rose with black ribbon and bows/ thanks a million for your review, babe! luvs!

tasha- one of my most loyal reviewers! yep.. it is almost time for this to be over and done with, but i had to throw that ONE last curveball out there! thanx for sticking with the story! u rocketh!

Meir Brin- wow... that was definately the longest review i think i've gotten for this story! I'm so glad you took the time to give me all of your thoughts on this story! As to your question about the lair... (the way i have it on my little drawn out sketch of my interpretation of Erik's home) in my thinking, when the rocks fell, they covered the passage, which was why it wasn't mentioned until later. However, it is one of the inconsistencies that could very well be disputed about this story. I hope you continue to read, and send me your comments!

To everyone else who reviewed: I LOVE YOU GUYS! YOU KEEP THIS STORY ALIVE!

until next time, Your Humble Author


	57. Search

Chapter 57- Search

Meg's tears seemed like a river with no end; no matter how hard she tried to stop them, they kept coming. She was blinded by them… she couldn't see, couldn't think, couldn't do anything.

Meg Giry was completely helpless.

After what seemed like hours, it seemed as though her tears were finally ebbing, only to give way to pain. Pain of loneliness, pain of loss… but most of all the pain of knowing that Erik was in some awful place, thinking of her, and knowing that she couldn't help him. As she sat there on the floor of the lair, her exhausted mind tried to make sense of everything, and tried to think of some way- any way- to find Erik and save him before it was too late. It was clear to her that she would never be able to do it alone… she would need someone to help her… but who could she turn to? She couldn't confide the secret of the Phantom of the Opera in any of the members of the ballet corps… she couldn't go to the police either; they'd arrest Erik on the spot for murder. No, Meg thought, she needed someone she could trust… someone who could keep Erik's secret. Suddenly, as she cast a forlorn glance around the lair, she thought of the perfect person. In her mind, a plan began to unfold; a plan that would depend on a miracle to work correctly, but a plan nonetheless. The hardest part would be persuading them to help her… she thought.

Shakily, Meg got to her feet and stood up, leaning on the organ for support. Knowing she had to move quickly, she pocketed Erik's mask and his letter. She also ventured back into his room and took his cloak, which had been tossed carelessly on his coffin, right where he had left it. She pulled it around her as though it could shield her from all the world. It smelled of roses, sandalwood and musky incense; Erik's scent. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting her senses relax for a moment. Then, Meg took one last look around the lair, whispering her quiet promise to the stagnant air: "_I'll find you, Erik…"

* * *

_

Nearly a fifteen minutes later, Meg was in a carriage, speeding through the streets of Paris to a fancier part of town. With every thud of the horse's footsteps, Meg's heart beat a little faster, and by the time she arrived at her destination, it was threatening to burst from her chest from nervous anxiety.

The carriage had pulled up in front of a large, fancy- looking house. It was the home of Raoul and Christine deChagny, Meg's last allies. As she paid the driver and hurried up the walk, she prayed to God that they would help her.

She rang the front bell and waited; the seconds slipping by as though each one was five years in length. When the door finally opened, Meg was greeted by a middle-aged woman, dressed in the modest apparel of a servant.

"Oui, Mademoiselle?" the maid inquired.

"Is the Vicomtess at home, please?" Meg asked.

"Yes," the maid replied, eyes sweeping up and down Meg with a look of disapproval. Meg realized that she still had her long ballet skirt on, and self-consciously pulled the cloak more tightly around herself.

"May I see her?" Meg asked. "It's urgent."

"Mademoiselle, I do not believe that the Vicomtess is-"

"What is the trouble, Marie?" came a soft voice from inside the house.

"Christine!" Meg cried, relieved when her friend appeared behind the maid.

"Meg!" The two women embraced each other like sisters. "How unexpected," said Christine, pulling away. Then it seemed that she saw the expression on Meg's face, for she said immediately, "Meg- what is the matter?"

"I must speak with you," Meg said quietly. "In private. Something has happened…" her voice faltered.

Christine's doe-eyes widened. "Is it…" she cast a sideways glance at the maid standing still within earshot and lowered her voice to a whisper. "Is it… Erik?"

Meg gave her a despairing look, and nodded.

Christine's heart skipped a beat. "Come in, Meg. Marie, I must speak with Mademoiselle Giry in private… we will be in the study, and are not to be disturbed."

"Yes, Madame," said the maid, and hurried off.

Meg followed Christine down the elaborate hall off of the entryway into a small but elegant room. Christine sat down on a chaise lounge, and motioned for Meg to sit as well.

"What's happened?" Christine said, with obvious worry.

"Oh, Christine," Meg began. "Erik has been-"

The words never left her mouth; she was cut off by a knock at the door. A second later, the door opened, to reveal none other than the Vicomte deChagny himself.

"Christine? I thought I heard… oh, hello Meg."

Meg gave him a weak smile.

Christine's heart turned over in her chest. Raoul probably wouldn't be the most enthusiastic to know that she and Meg were discussing Erik. "Darling, Meg and I were speaking… would you give us a moment, perhaps?"

"No," Meg said. "He… he should hear this also, Meg. I know he may not want to, but I may need both of you to help me."

Raoul, looking concerned, went over to join his wife on the chaise. "What is it Meg?" he asked.

"Well," she began shakily. "As Christine knows… I have been involved with Erik… the Phantom of the Opera that is… since the chandelier disaster. We were trapped beneath the Opera House together for some time… and…" she trailed off. "What you must know is that something happened to Erik today. He is in danger… I don't even know if he is still alive. The Comte de Renoir- the new patron of the opera- has something to do with it, as does the new prima donna, Rachelle L'hereux. I don't know where they took him… I don't think they would have gone to the police… I think the Comte is using Erik as a means to get to me… Erik left me this note…" she held it out to let Christine read it. "… and told me not to look for him… but I have to find him, Christine. He's all I have now." Meg's voice died out. She watched Christine and Raoul read Erik's note; Christine looked on the verge of tears, and Raoul looked stone-faced.

"I came here today," Meg continued shakily. "To ask for your help. I don't know where Erik is… but I won't rest until I find him. I can't do it alone… and I need people who already know… know his secrets."

"We'll help you, Meg," Christine whispered.

"Christine," Raoul began, and Meg could sense a protest coming. "Do you really think… I mean… do you really think we should be doing this?"  
"Raoul," Christine said, "how can you say no? I know you don't like Erik… but he and Meg are happy together… and Erik deserves happiness in his life… not more torment and death. We have to do what we can- anything we can. If you do it for nothing else, Raoul darling, do it for me."

Raoul let out a long breath. "Very well," he said quietly. "We'll help you search for him, Meg. As long as you need us."

Meg let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you both," she said, swallowing the tears that threatened her again. "Do you have any idea where they might have gone?"

Raoul looked pensive for a moment, lost in thought. "I remember the Comte once saying that he has a chateau outside of Paris… in the countryside. Its about a day's journey from here. I don't know if they're there, but it's a start."

Meg nodded. "I suppose we'll start there," she said.

"We'll have to think carefully about how we're going to do this," Raoul said. "We don't know what the Comte is capable of. Our best chance would be to watch the house for signs of Erik… if he's there, then we'll decide how to rescue him."

"When can we leave?" Meg asked.

"We'll leave within the hour," said Raoul. "I'll tell the servants to prepare the carriage."

* * *

Forty five minutes later, Meg, Christine and Raoul were in a carriage on its way out of the city. Few words were spoken as they left the deChagny house; Meg had fallen into a semi-comatose state of mind… she couldn't think or dwell on anything except for the dull pain of fear. Christine sat worriedly by her friend's side, an arm around Meg's shoulder. None of this was fair, she thought. Erik had finally gotten over her loss, and now it seemed as though hope was fading for him and Meg. What if they never found him? Christine wondered, horrified at the thought. It struck her that her life, in some way, would change if Erik was suddenly gone. A part of him still lived within her, would always be with her no matter what. She looked across the carriage at her husband. Raoul was sitting, stone- faced, staring off into space. Christine wondered what he was thinking. She knew that he wasn't enthused that they might encounter Erik again… she hoped he wouldn't do anything foolish if they did find the phantom.

"Raoul," she said softly, a short while later. Meg had drifted off into a light slumber, leaning against the carriage window.

Raoul looked up, his wife's whisper pulling him from his reverie.

"How far to the house?"

"About two hours from here. I'll have the driver stop the carriage a mile or so away so we can walk- it will be less conspicuous.

"I hope we find him there, for Meg's sake," Christine said.

Raoul didn't respond.

"Darling… I know you don't like this… but look- your ring is on my finger… I'm yours, not his. You needn't worry about anything."

"It isn't you I worry about, Christine. I know you'd never go back. But him… he-"

"He loves Meg as much as he ever loved me, and probably ten times more than that. Raoul, lay your fears to rest."

Raoul looked at Christine long and hard for a moment, before reaching over to take her hand.

"I love you," he said softly.

"And I love you, Raoul," she responded. "Never doubt it."

* * *

The sky began to grow steadily darker as the carriage drew nearer to the Comte's estate. The sky was a dull, ominous grey; a bleak result of the lack of sun during the day. Meg watched out the window as the grey day faded into darkness. The whole day had seemed such; no colors, no life, no existence, just black and white. Life and death. Meg swallowed. There was a sinking feeling in her heart that she couldn't be rid of; she prayed for once that her intuition was lying to her. But no matter how often she tried to assure herself that Erik was all right, the feeling refused to leave her.

Finally, the carriage came to a halt. Meg's heart skipped a beat. They had arrived.

Raoul spoke, "Listen," he said, "we're about two miles off from the house. I don't want to risk going any closer, and we'll be able to move better under cover of darkness."

Meg and Christine nodded.

"I don't know what we're getting ourselves into-" Raoul said, looking serious beyond his years. "-So I brought these…" From within his coat, he drew three pistols. He handed two of them to Christine and Meg.

"I pray that we won't have to use these… but we must protect ourselves." His gaze drifted to his wife, whose large brown eyes stared at the weapon with a poignant fear within them. Raoul knew that she had never held a gun before in her life…

"Christine, darling," he said softly, making her look at him. She read the look in his eyes: _stay here… stay safe…_

She shook her head. "Erik needs us, Raoul. I'll do whatever's necessary," she responded quietly.

Reluctantly, Raoul nodded. "And you Meg?" he asked. "Will you be all right?"

Meg nodded.

Raoul quickly explained to the two women how to fire their pistols, and then announced that it was time.

The three of them dismounted from the carriage into the chilly night air. It was now very dark- the only light came from the almost-full moon that was covered by thick clouds; the pale glow just barely reached the earth. Meg and Christine followed Raoul, who obviously knew which way he was going, for he offered no sign of uncertainty.

They walked silently; Meg soon fell into a semi-hypnotic state, the only noise she heard was the almost inaudible sound of her feet on the soft grass beneath them. She didn't notice when Christine stopped in front of her, and ran into her friend as she was jerked back to reality.

"There it is," Raoul said in a hushed whisper.

Meg looked ahead and saw a large, three story house about a quarter of a mile away. She could see a few lights on inside; someone was definitely there. Was it a trap, she wondered? Was the Comte waiting for her to arrive? Was Erik there, trapped inside? Or was he- she could hardly bear the thought- already dead?

"We must go quietly," Raoul said. "I don't know if he'll have any sort of guards… we'll just have to be extra careful." He looked at the two women. "This is your last chance to back out. Once we get to the house, there will be no turning back."

Meg and Christine both nodded gravely.

"Very well," said Raoul. "Let's go."

* * *

A/N: REVIEW... and tell me what u think of my tossing christine and raoul into the mix!

Next chapter: Meg, Christine and Raoul arrive at the Comte's house, but will they find Erik… alive?

That's all I'll say for now! Muah!

Also: happy Halloween, everybody! Its my favorite holiday of the year! Candy corn goes to whoever reviews!


	58. The First Steps Into the Nightmare

Chapter 58- The First Steps into the Nightmare

A/N: Firstly, I'd like to start off by humbly apologizing for not updating sooner. For those of you who have faithfully continued to check for updates, I thank you. You guys keep this story alive, and your reviews help inspire me through the "dry periods" when writing becomes difficult.

That being said, I am anticipating anywhere from 6-8 chapters until the end, so hang in there! I will try to make my updates sooner, but with midterm exams and AP classes, life tends to stick me with a LOT of schoolwork…

But ANYWAY… I guess you have waited long enough… Enjoy!

* * *

In a dark, dank room, several feet below where Meg, Christine and Raoul stood, the object of their search was lying on the floor, deathly still and very, very pale. One quick glance at him would suggest that he was dead, but a closer examination would reveal the almost imperceptible rise and fall of his chest. On the floor across from where he was lying was a white mask; the porcelain surface chipped and cracked, having no doubt been knocked forcibly from the face of its owner. The room was a cellar; made of stone, and built about ten feet beneath the house, with stairs leading up to the rest of the estate. It was very dark in the room; there was only one small window near the ceiling that let in a small amount of moonlight.

Footsteps sounded above, and a moment later, a door burst open at the top of the stairs. Two pairs of feet made their way down to the cellar. The heavy thuds suggested that they were males.

"Is he still alive, sir?" the first man inquired the second.

The Comte walked over to where Erik was lying. Bending over him, he observed that the phantom was still alive. "Yes. He is still breathing. I want you to keep an eye on him, Leon. See to it that he stays alive… but keep him subdued. I don't want to risk him causing trouble."

"Yes, sir."

"Very well," said the Comte. On the floor, the phantom stirred. The Comte stooped down, and grabbed Erik by the collar, forcing his head up, exposing his unmasked face. The phantom met his captor's eyes with a tired look of defeat. "What a cruel trick of fate," the Comte mused. "Perhaps you really are the devil's son. And what Meg could possibly see in you is beyond my comprehension." He laughed harshly. "But no matter. In a few hours, I'll wager, you'll be dead, and Meg… Meg will be mine."

"No…" Erik mumbled weakly.

The Comte let out a harsh bark of laughter, and released Erik from his grasp. The phantom's head fell, striking the stone floor, rendering him once again unconscious.

* * *

Meanwhile, Meg, Christine and Raoul were crouched beneath a hedge about thirty yards from the manor.

"How do we get in, Raoul?" Christine asked, looking paler than usual. Her thin fingers clutched the pistol until her knuckles turned white.

Her husband shook his head. "I can't see any way from here… but there's likely an entrance around the back that we can use." He stood up. "You two wait here… I'll go have a look."

"Raoul, be careful," Christine said, unable to mask a tremor in her voice.

"I will, my love," he promised.

He stepped out from behind the hedge, and began to move toward the house.

"Christine?" Meg whispered faintly.

Christine turned to face her friend.

"What if we can't find a way in?" Meg asked fearfully. "What if I can't get to him?"

"Raoul will find a way in, Meg," Christine comforted her. "Everything will be all right."

"I wish that were so," Meg responded hollowly.

With a glance at Raoul, who was steadily approaching the house, Christine reached out to Meg, patting her gently on the wrist, trying to find some words of reassurance to say to her best friend. She opened her mouth to speak, when suddenly the groaning of a door sounded, and a patch of earth in front of the manor was bathed in a pool of buttery-yellow light.

Christine's hand flew to her mouth to stifle a gasp.

The door to the manor had opened, revealing a large, burly-looking man carrying a revolver of his own.

"Who's there?" he shouted out into the night. His eyes shifted to Raoul. "You!" he shouted. "Don't move!" He pointed the revolver at him.

"No!" Christine whispered.

"You may lower your weapon, monsieur, I am no thief, nor vagrant," said Raoul, stepping into the light.

The man continued to hold his belligerent stance.

"Forgive me," Raoul continued. "I am the Vicomte de Chagny. My carriage was in an accident, about three miles down the road. I am a friend of the Comte de Renoir, and was hoping he would grant me a place to stay for the night."

The man's pistol lowered, and Meg and Christine both let out their silent anxieties.

"Monsieur Vicomte," the man said. "Forgive me- I did not know… the Comte wishes to safeguard his home and grounds against the wandering vagrants that are about…"

"No harm in that," said Raoul, his voice light as he attempted to mask his nervousness. "Is the Comte at home? I should like to speak with him…"

"Of course, sir. Arrived just this afternoon. I am sure he would be glad to welcome you."

"I apologize again for startling you," Raoul said. Glancing behind him to the open night, he said, "I was about to go around the back, around the servants entrance so as not to disturb the whole house…" His eyes fell on the bush that Meg and Christine hid behind.

"Oh, there'd be no one 'round back this late at night, monsieur. Most of the Comte's servants live aways down the road in the next village. They've long since gone home."

"Ah… I see," said Raoul.

The man gestured to the door, "Do come inside, monsieur, there is no need to linger out here."

"Thank you," said Raoul, following him inside.

The door shut, and all was silent again.

"What do we do now?" Christine asked. "They have Raoul! How can we hope to get to Erik?"

Meg thought for a minute. "Maybe this worked out for the better, Christine. If Raoul can keep up his lie, he might be able to distract the Comte while we search for Erik."

"But where will we begin, Meg?"

"Raoul told us where he was going, remember? He was going around the back of the house. I'm sure he was trying to tell us to do the same. He knew it was deserted; he knew there'd be a way in. If we just go very quietly…"

As if suddenly energized from some unknown source, Meg stood up and began moving quickly toward the house, following Raoul's path, but staying more further away than he had. She heard Christine's small footsteps behind her. They made their way around the side of the house, where they stopped, sitting against the side.

"Now what?" Christine whispered.

Meg pursed her lips, looking around. "There," she said, pointing.

About fifteen yards away, near the end of the wall, there was a cellar door carved into the ground, with a window above it.

"Wait here," Meg said. "I'm going to go see if anyone's down there. This might be our way in." She began to walk, hunched down, for the windows on that side of the house were relatively low.

Christine cast a fearful glance around the landscape, feeling suddenly very cold and very alone. A tremor ran through her body as she contemplated their surrealistic situation. She heard the squeak of a bat from a nearby tree, a lone sound on an otherwise eerily still night; a single omen of things lurking in the dark…

* * *

A/N: this chapter was going to be longer, but I decided to cut it… I'm sort of on a roll with the plot though, so I will (HOPEFULLY) get a chance to update for you sooner!

Review, and make moi happy!


	59. The Prisons of the Mind

Chapter 59- The Prisons of the Mind

A/N: hey look, I'm back again! And its time for a journey into the mind of our unconscious Erik… this could be dangerous… you have been warned!

* * *

His world was spinning; colors swirled before his eyes, blurring as they ran together, creating a funnel cloud of confusion laced with memory. His current state of unconsciousness did not leave Erik without thought, however, as the events of the previous hours played out before him. The figures in his dream seemed like ghosts; shadow creatures performing a macabre play on a haunted stage: 

_He was preparing to leave- to start a new life with Meg. It would be a matter of hours, he thought, until they would be free. So consumed was his mind by the task at hand, that he found his guard lowering; a calm, care-free air coming over him, a clarity that made it feel as though everything would be fine…_

_And then, without warning…_

_A noise… _

_Footsteps down the corridor…_

_The disturbance of the lake waters…_

_The cock of a pistol…_

_No time to hide… _

"_At last…" The sound of a cool, oily voice. "The phantom of the opera, in my grasp." _

_Erik turned to see the Comte deRenoir standing on the "threshold" of his lair, knee deep in water, surrounded by five or so more men, each of whom were armed. _

_No way to escape… _

_A pistol was pressed to his head… _

"_Planning to run away, phantom?" the Comte asked venomously. "With Mademoiselle Giry, perhaps? A charming plan, but a plan that I shall foil nonetheless. Oh yes… I know about your little liaison…" _

"_Leave Meg alone!" Erik snarled, teeth clenched as he strained against the two burly men who had come behind him, seizing him by the arms. _

_A sadistic sneer crept across the Comte's pointed features. His gleaming eyes flashed as he lowered his head to Erik's. _

"_Mademoiselle Giry's safety will be well assured," he said silkily, "provided that she cooperates. _

"_Kill me," said Erik, in a devil-may-care tone of voice, "but if you lay one finger on Meg, Comte, I swear on my life that no mortal on earth will be able to save you from the repercussions."_

"_Touching sentiment," the Comte said silkily. "But you'll be dead… and I'm afraid that there's no one else to care for Meg." _

"_I've been called ghost many times, Comte," Erik retaliated levelly. "If I can be a ghost in life, I can certainly become one in death."_

"_Why wait, then?" the Comte leveled his revolver at the height of Erik's chest. "Why don't I seal your fate, right now? It wouldn't take much… just the slightest move of my finger… and the reign of the notorious Phantom of the Opera would be over. What a story that would make…" _

_Erik felt as the pistol dug in just below his ribcage. He didn't like this situation, with his life in the Comte's hands. Instinct told him that the Comte wouldn't harm him just yet, but the knowing that his life could be ended at any second did not comfort him. He raised his green eyes to meet the Comte's contemptuous gaze, and suddenly a sharp pain exploded in the back of his head, as one of the other men struck him with the butt of a revolver. Erik swayed, falling to his knees; the sound of the Comte's laughter ringing in his ears. _

_The Comte then stooped down next to Erik, and said in an oily, fluid voice, "Let's see the man behind the mask, shall we?"_

_The next several moments passed as though Erik was watching them from somewhere removed; as though he were on the outside of the tableaux, looking in. He felt the mask being peeled from his face, but made no move to stop it, as he normally would have. It fell away, and the men uttered oaths upon the sight. Erik felt his head loll forward, still reeling from the pain of the blow. _

"_Good God!" came the Comte's reaction. "He truly looks as though hell itself spat him back out."_

"_That's not human!" One of the other men interjected. "We should kill him right now, send him to the grave where he belongs. This side of his face's like a corpse!" _

"_No!" the Comte said sharply. "We take him to the manor tonight. Tomorrow," he pulled Erik's head up by the hair as he said this, "I shall speak to Meg, to see if we can't come to some… agreement." _

"_Should we tie him up?" another one of the men asked. _

"_In a moment. First…" he moved over to the desk, where Erik's stack of parchment, quill, and red ink stood. Taking a sheet, the quill and the ink, he gave them to Erik. "Let the Phantom of the Opera write his last note. Write to your darling Meg one last time, phantom." _

_The dull, dead feeling in Erik's soul deepened as the quill scratched across the paper. The pain in his head continued to throb, keeping time with the rapid beating of his heart. When he finished, one of the men bound his hands firmly behind his back. _

"_Ready, sir?" _

"_Yes, I daresay we've achieved our purpose here tonight, gentlemen. But before we go," He glanced around the lair, and then down at Erik, "-Destroy the organ." _

_Erik's senses seemed to suddenly reignite when he heard the words. Destroy the organ! The sheer thought was blasphemy!_

"_No!" he said hoarsely, in as strong a voice as he could muster. _

_The Comte sneered. _

_The men went to the table, taking the legs off, preparing to use them as instruments of destruction. _

_Erik's mind raced. His organ… his music… they were going to destroy it! His life, his truest friend was about to be executed in the most horrible of ways. _I can't let them,_ he thought desperately. But with his hands bound, he knew he was powerless. _You could beg,_ he thought. The notion repulsed him. _No, _he thought, _I refuse to sit at this man's feet and plead.

_And so he forced himself to watch, out of defiance of the Comte, and respect for the instrument that had so long been his only company in the dismal lair. _

_The wooden lacquered table legs struck the organ with intense force, sending out a shrill, clanging death shriek across the lair as the pipes were attacked. One man, who appeared to be the strongest of them all, began to tear off the pipes with his bare hands, throwing them across the room. The labyrinth echoed terribly as the keys were smashed in; and Erik cringed at the awfulness of the sound. He didn't realize that as he watched the destruction, tears had begun to slide slowly down his face. He knew from his years at the opera that the power of a song could make a grown man show emotion, but it was the sound of music being destroyed that could make a grown man cry. _

_If the sound of the organ breaking was loud, the silence that fell over the labyrinth after it was done was deafening. As the final crescendo died away, Erik felt his strength leaving him. His music was gone. He would probably never see Meg again. Everything he had to live for suddenly wasn't there for him to hold onto anymore. It was like trying to catch water in your hand, it always escapes, it always flows away. He vaguely felt the men forcing him into the boat, and then he lost consciousness.

* * *

_

_He awoke hours later, in a dark room that he had never seen before. It looked like a dungeon; with cold, moist stone walls and a dirt floor. Rays of light were coming from a window above him; it was obviously daytime. He tried to move his arms, but discovered, to his dismay, that they were still tied. _

_As his senses heightened, he became at once aware of the throbbing of his head. There was a metallic smell in the air, and looking down, he saw that there was a gash in his leg. He tried to roll over, an action that caused his whole body to ache. What had happened, he wondered? He couldn't remember anything after the lair. _

_He heard footsteps coming down what sounded like stairs. _

"_Leon- he's awake."_

"_Not for long. The Comte wants him subdued. I'll take care of it." _

_The footsteps came closer. _

_Another blow was struck to Erik's head, this time from the man's foot, and the world again went dark._

_He felt suddenly as though he was falling down, down, down…_

_It seemed to take forever, until finally he stopped. White mist surrounded him… A silhouette appeared before him… a voice called to him, a voice that he would know anywhere…_

_"Erik!"_

_'Meg' he mouthed silently, unable to make a sound. _

_She appeared before him, clad in white. 'So beautiful,' Erik thought. _

_She called him again, "Erik… Erik… Erik…"_

"Erik!"

There was her voice again. But this time, it was coming from the realm of reality. Erik felt himself being pulled back to consciousness.

"Erik!" Her voice was urgent.

_She can't be here, _he thought.

"Erik, please wake up, my love." A cool hand pressed to his searing face.

It was her, he thought. She was really there. He could feel her touch him… he could sense her presence next to him.

"Meg…" he murmured.

He heard her breathe a sigh of relief.

"Erik, listen to me. We have to hurry. If we're discovered…. We have to get out of here. Can you get up?"

Erik forced his eyes open. There she was, his angel. His.

"Meg…" he breathed again. "You shouldn't be here. The Comte can't find you here… if he does, we're both doomed."

"Shhh. We're going to get out of here," she whispered. She looked down, and saw his bound hands. She began to work furiously at the knot, clawing at it until her own fingers bled. Finally, the ropes came untied.

Erik reached up a shaking hand to brush her cheek. "How did you get down here?"

"I came through the window. It's the only way."

He glanced up at the window, a good six feet above them. Meg could probably make it out, but he… he was injured.

"Meg… you should go."

"I'm not leaving without you."

"You must," he said weakly.

"Dammit, Erik!" she hissed. "Have these past months taught you nothing? I love you, and I'm not leaving! Now get up, we're getting out of this miserable place and getting on with our lives!"

Had the situation not been so serious, Erik would have laughed at her stubbornness. Instead, he let her help him sit up, then waited for the world to stop spinning. Meg's eyes fell to the gash on his head where he had been hit with the revolver, as well as the other injuries.

"What did they do to you?" she breathed. She brushed her hand across his forehead, sweeping his hair out of his eyes. He hissed in pain, and she noticed another cut above his eyebrow.

"I have a feeling they threw me down the stairs," he said. "I don't remember much clearly… "

The sound of voices jolted them both.

"Come on," Meg said. "Let's go."

She helped him up, and he leaned on her as they limped over to the window.

"I'll go up first," she said, "Then help pull you out. Can you climb , just a little?"

He nodded.

Meg turned, preparing to begin her ascent.

"Meg."

She turned to meet his eyes. Then, as if both read the other's thoughts, their lips met for a quick but passionate kiss.

When they finally broke apart, Meg turned once more, and began to climb.

* * *

A/N: well after a totally GINORMOUS hiatus, I have finally returned to you guys! I hope you all can forgive me for my extended absence! Life just got soo busy! Hopefully I'll be able to update a bit more frequently… I've got the ending in sight, so stick with meh; I'm definitely gonna see this one through to the end! 


	60. Escape?

Chapter 60- Escape?

A/N: okay, so really there is no excuse for my lack of updating. Nor will I waste your time trying to make one up.

* * *

"Christine! Help me!" Meg hissed, reaching upward. 

Her friend's face appeared in the open window above her, and she caught Meg by the hands, helping to pull her up, until she finally rolled onto the grass.

Meg immediately returned her eyes to Erik. He looked so weak- she feared he would collapse before they could get him out.

"Hurry," she whispered down to him.

Every bone in Erik's body was screaming in pain; he longed for nothing more than to slip into the peaceful darkness of unconsciousness again, but a stronger force in his body dominated him as he reached up to clasp Meg and Christine's hands. The two women began to pull, but it soon became apparent that their plan was failing. Erik was practically a dead weight; too weak to climb himself, and they were both slight. Even the muscles that Meg had built up in a ballet were no match for gravity.

"I've got to go back down," Meg said. "Find something to stand on maybe…" she said quietly, more to herself than to Christine. "Erik," she whispered down to him, "I'm coming back down."

He said nothing, but moved aside.

Meg dropped down silently. She looked around the cellar. There was an old dresser and several other large crates along the wall by the stairs, opposing the wall with the window, but they were all full and very, very heavy. Meg knew that they could never be moved without making a great deal of noise.

Out of the corner of her eye, Meg spotted a rickety old end table. It didn't look very stable, but she decided she should be able to move it alone, and once Erik was safely out, she could climb out on her own. Meg tiptoed over, and picked it up. It was dusty, and heavier than she had initially estimated. As she began to move back toward the window, she heard heavy footfalls from upstairs. She froze in fear, terrified that the footsteps would come down the stairs.

They passed, and Meg exhaled in relief.

She put the table in place, making only the smallest of noises as she set it back on the floor. Erik let out a muffled groan. He was now leaning against the wall, eyes closed, looking dangerously pale. With a jolt, Meg realized that he was slipping back into unconsciousness. If he did, she knew that getting him out would be even more difficult.

"Erik," Meg whispered, touching his cheek. "Come on. We have to go now."

He opened his eyes— his normally bright green-gold eyes were clouded, the pupils dilated.

"That's it," Meg coaxed. "Just do this for me, Erik. Just climb up…"

Deep beneath the stupor that his senses had fallen under, something in Erik stirred. Meg's voice cut through the bounds of his pending unconsciousness… it gave him strength. With her arms supporting him, he was able to climb onto the table. The added height was enough.

"Can you pull him out, Christine?" Meg asked quietly. She saw Christine reach her arms down, clasping them around Erik's thin frame.

"Come on Erik," Meg encouraged him.

Above her, Christine struggled to pull him up. Though he was very thin, she herself was weak. She was about to admit defeat, when Erik's weight seemed to lessen. She looked down into his face and saw a new, lucid clarity in his eyes. If only for the moment, she thought, Erik had regained consciousness.

A moment later, Erik was lying on his back on the dew-covered grass.

Meg exhaled in relief, before shifting her weight on the table, preparing to climb out herself.

As she did so, she heard a sudden splintering noise, and before she could register what was happening, she felt herself falling.

A loud crack sounded as the table split, and the pieces fell noisily onto the floor.

"Meg!" Christine whispered urgently. "Come on!"

Meg's heart rate increased exponentially as she heard footsteps again.

"Christine!" she hissed "Take Erik and go! Get as far away from here as possible. Just keep him safe!"

"But Meg—"

"Go!"

Meg thought with a pang of fear that Christine wouldn't listen to her, but her friend's brunette head disappeared from the window. Meg scrambled for a place to hide in the shadows as the cellar door was flung open, flooding the small room with warm yellow light.

Meg crouched beneath the stairs, acknowledging with a sinking heart that hiding was futile. There was no other way out of the cellar… she was, for all intents and purposes, trapped.

The floorboards above hear thudded with heavy footfalls, and Meg knew that she was no longer alone.

"Monsieur Comte! He's gone!" A deep, masculine voice called up the stairs.

Another set of footsteps came down the stairs.

"How— it is not possible!" the Comte spat indignantly. "He must have had help… Search the grounds! Immediately!"

"Yes, monsieur." The men muttered, hurrying back up the stairs. From where she crouched, Meg saw the Comte as he paced around the room, muttering to himself.

He stopped by the open window, staring up at it, speculating.

Then, he turned, striding briskly up the stairs.

Meg waited in silence for several moments, but heard only silence. The cellar door was still open, but she knew that it might be her only chance to escape. She crept over to the wall by the window, searching for the foothold she had used earlier, when—

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Meg froze.

She heard the cock of a pistol behind her, and the cold malice in his voice as the Comte's laughter rang out from where he stood on the stairs.

He moved toward her.

"Well, well, well… Mademoiselle Giry. What a _pleasant_ surprise…"

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the shortness of this chapter... it ended up turning into one of those transition chapters. But, I promise another update is coming very soon. 

Next chapter will feature: the reunion of Erik and Christine... Meg's capture by the Comte we love to hate, and oh yeah, we'll meet up with Raoul again. So, things just might get interesting...


	61. Stranger Than You Dreamt It

Chapter 61- Stranger Than You Dreamt It…

A/N: could it be?? two updates in a week?? ;)

* * *

The Comte's voice continued to grow nearer. 

"Come to rescue your phantom, Meg?" he asked, amused. "I see you have succeeded… or, halfway succeeded, at least. Tell me, is his life for yours a fair trade?" He grabbed her by the arm and spun her around to face him. "Because that, my dear, is just what you've done."

"Get off me!" Meg said defiantly.

The Comte laughed again. "My dear girl, I mean you no harm. Had I intended to kill you, I can assure you, it would have happened already."

"Then what is it that you intend to do with me?" Meg spat.

"First, I wish to know everything about your connection to the Phantom of the Opera. After that…" a sinister grin spread across his face. "We shall see…"

"And if I refuse?"

"Let us just say," he said, running a finger along her jaw line "that I can be a very persuasive man, Mademoiselle."

Meg flinched in disgust, and the Comte pulled his hand away.

"But let us not forget our sense of propriety just yet. I wish to speak with you, Meg, and I ask that you comply. It would be in your best interest, I think."

With a sinking heart, Meg knew that he was right. She could think of no way to fix this… she knew of no way to escape… Christine and Erik were for the most part useless, at this point, it would be a major miracle if they managed to evade capture. There was Raoul, but who knew where he was.

Reluctantly, Meg allowed the Comte to lead her up the stairs and into the main hall of the manor. From what she now saw of it, Meg knew that the house itself was the epitome of splendor—the walls were a deep, dark, finished wood that shone in the light of the oil lamps that burned brightly along the hall. Rich, elaborate paintings surrounded by gold gilded frames provided decoration. Without warning, the overpowering feeling of captivity swarmed over Meg. This house was unfamiliar to her… and as the Comte led her further on, she realized that they were most certainly not alone. From all around, she could hear the muffled voices of men, talking, swearing, laughing here and there. There would be no chance to run… she thought.

They entered a spacious room that Meg guessed to be a sitting room of some sort, in which there were six or seven men, sitting and standing idly.

"Did I not instruct you to search the grounds?" the Comte snapped upon entering.

"Jacques, Leon and Marc have gone out," one of them responded.

"Well I expect you out with them!" the Comte responded indignantly. "Now!"

The room emptied immediately, leaving only Meg and the Comte behind. Once he was certain they were alone, he closed the door, and to Meg's dismay, locked it with a shiny brass key, which he deposited back in his waistcoat pocket.

Turning back to Meg, he smiled his deceivingly charming smile. Meg winced.

The Comte gestured to the small settee on the far side of the room. "Please, sit," he said cordially.

Seeing no reason to defy his simple request, Meg complied, sinking to the softness of the sofa in a trance-like state.

The Comte himself took a seat in a finely-upholstered chair opposite her, and looked at her intently. As he surveyed her, he had to contain his amusement. She looked like nothing more than a kitchen wench—her dress was plain, her face smudged, and her hair mussed. And yet, there was still an air of pride about her, and air of defiance… _a fiery spirit_, he thought. _She still believes she can win_. His sneer widened.

"Now, do tell me, Mademoiselle Giry… why _exactly _have you gone to such extremities to rescue the Phantom?"

"What do you stand to gain from all this?" Meg countered. "Why do you pursue him so intently?"

He laughed. "An answer for an answer, dear lady. Answer my question first."

"And if I should not?"

"Do you enjoy playing this game, Marguerite?"

"I do not recall giving you permission to address me informally, Monsieur," Meg said coolly. Her heart was beating rapidly against her chest, and she knew that the Comte was enjoying the battle of wit far too much for her liking. He wasn't even trying to mask his amusement now… the ridiculous look on his face made Meg want to lash out with everything she had—she wanted to fight tooth and nail, futile though it may be.

But she thought of Erik then… she had to get back to him. And to reach that goal, she knew she would need patience.

"You are truly an enigma, _mademoiselle,_" the Comte continued. "I knew that from the first day I saw you. One glance was all it took… I knew there was more to you than met the eye. I should commend you—not many women would have the constitution for a… daring rescue mission, shall we call it?"

He was mocking her.

Meg was seething, and she felt her passive expression begin to crack.

"Do you love him, Meg?" the Comte asked, his voice turning cold. "Do you truly _love_ the monster?" His expression was that of disgust. "Come now, Meg. Be reasonable. You're an attractive woman. You could have any of the handsome men in Paris. Why choose a man who is so hideous, so _repulsive _that he hides behind a mask?"

Meg clenched her fists together tightly… her fingernails broke through the flesh of her palms, but she didn't care. She felt nothing—only fiery hatred for the Comte that flowed through her like an electric current.

He continued his commentary on Erik with the air of someone commenting on the weather. "He's not much of a man, even. Why, he barely put up a fight when we made to capture him. Whether you see it or not, your phantom is a weak, pathetic excuse for a human being. The world would be better off rid of him. And that is precisely what I intend to see happen. The phantom will die."

"Why?" Meg asked suddenly, voice filled with indignation. "Why are you so consumed by the desire to see him killed?"

The Comte gave a short bark of laughter. "It started out with you. When I first came to the Opera, I knew that of all the women in the company, you were the most beautiful, the most talented. I knew then that I wanted you… all for myself. But you… you would have nothing to do with me. I thought initially that if I could be the one to bring the Phantom to justice, to finally punish him for the crimes he has committed, and the pain he has caused you—"

At this, Meg raised her eyebrows.

"Oh yes, Meg. I know about your mother's untimely death. As a member of the Hospital's financial board of directors, I tend to hear these sorts of things. She was another casualty of the Opera House fire, they said… her heart and lungs were weakened from the smoke. Anyway, I thought that I would gain favor with you if I could bring down this phantom. But, as I soon discovered, you were _involved_ with him somehow. And that, my dear, was when my hunt for the Phantom intensified. I no longer wanted him dead to make you happy… I wanted him dead because he stood between me and the thing that I wanted most… you."

"You bastard," Meg said through clenched teeth.

The Comte chuckled. "Be that as it may, I must ask you to examine this current situation from an objective perspective. I have you here, in a locked room, armed men at by beck and call. I have men scouring the grounds at this very moment for your precious Phantom. That, my dear, puts me in the position of power, and it leaves you with regrettably little with which to negotiate. So," he continued, "let us see if we can't arrive at some sort of… _mutual_ agreement… shall we?" He eyed Meg suggestively.

"I won't," Meg said staunchly, looking the Comte right in the eyes. "Kill me if you must."

"I can assure you, it will not come to that," he responded crisply. "Somehow I think that against the choice of watching your beloved phantom murdered before your eyes, you'll think differently about my offer."

Meg was about to retort, but suddenly from outside the door there came a sudden scuffling—raised voices and brisk, heavy footfalls.

"I would wager that these are my men now," the Comte said. "No doubt they've captured the phantom. Perfect—we can move along with our negotiation."

As the din outside intensified, Meg's heart began to pound. _Please, _she prayed, _don't let it be Erik…_

But suddenly, both the Comte and Meg heard something that made them both raise their eyebrows in surprise.

A moment later, and the door burst open, revealing not the Phantom of the Opera, but a pink-clad and irate-looking Rachelle L'hereux.

* * *

Christine Daae was feeling more and more unsettled by the moment. She had somehow managed to move the half-conscious Erik away from the house and into a nearby shed, where—thoroughly exhausted— she had come to a halt. She knew that they couldn't stay there forever, though; already she could hear voices coming from around the farmhouse. But as she sat there on the dusty floor, her tiny chest heaving, she was glad for the short reprieve from the evening's dangers. Beside her, Erik lay relatively unconscious. 

Or so she thought.

Moments slid past, when suddenly the phantom groaned, and raised a hand to massage his temples.

"E-Erik?" Christine asked tentatively. She was suddenly extremely aware of the awkwardness of the situation. She had not been alone with her old teacher since that fateful night in the bowels of the Opera House...

"Christine…" he whispered through parched lips, his eyes still closed.

Christine hesitated, unsure of whether or not to respond. She couldn't tell whether or not Erik was lucid; it could have been just part of his fevered dreaming, she thought.

"Christine…" Erik said again.

The soft, tender way her name still seemed to slide off his tongue made Christine's heart stop. She had spent months trying to banish the memory of his voice from the depths of her mind. Every night for weeks following the opera house fire, she had heard it in her dreams, beckoning her, pleading with her to return to the broken heart she had left alone in the dark. Never had she thought that there would come a time when the two of them would be reunited.

Uncertainly, she reached out a hand and touched his face very lightly, as though he were a wisp of smoke that could be easily dissipated.

"I-I'm here, Erik," she said.

A strange look passed over his face—a shiver. His body seemed to convulse for a brief moment, and then his eyes fought themselves to open.

As Erik came back to consciousness, the first thing he saw was _her_.

There was Christine, hovering over him, her large, brown eyes round with concern and fear. She was still as beautiful and as perfect as ever, he thought; with her flawless white skin and fair complexion, perfectly crafted bone structure and silky hair.

But unlike months ago, Erik found himself strangely devoid of the aching feeling of unrequited love that usually came whenever he looked upon her…

"Meg…" he said suddenly. "What happened to Meg?"

Christine didn't respond immediately; she seemed to be searching for the right words.

"After you got out," she began, "Meg was getting ready to climb up, when the Comte came down. I'm afraid—I'm afraid he's caught her."

Clearly shaken, Erik struggled to sit up, and Christine found herself putting her arms around his waist in the effort to help him.

Their contact disconcerted Christine, who once Erik was sitting upright scooted a few more inches away.

Erik didn't seem to realize, or if he did, he didn't care.

"I have to go back for her," he said.

"Erik—you aren't strong enough," Christine said timidly. "We don't know how many men the Comte has guarding the house… or where inside Meg is. You could be killed."

"Perhaps that is my fate," he said grudgingly. "But I won't leave Meg in there."

He moved to stand up; he did so shakily, and when it looked as though he might fall, Christine rushed to help him, but he waved her off, forcing his thin body up so that he was leaning against the wall of the shed. He clenched his eyes closed, calling upon every last bit of strength that he had. When he opened them, he felt a slightly greater sense of clarity. His eyes darted around the room looking for something—anything—that he could use for a weapon.

He spotted just what he was looking for in the back corner of the shed. He walked over unsteadily, trailing one palm along the wall of the shed for support. Reaching down, he picked up the thick length of rope. A small smile played around his lips—he felt a small thrill; the feeling of the rope took him back to the time when he had been feared by many for his skill with the Punjab lasso. With a few twists and knots, he created his weapon.

He looked back at Christine, who was eyeing him with apprehension.

"Go, Christine," he said. "Leave this place, run as far and as fast as you can. It's too dangerous for you to linger."

"What will you do?" she asked.

"I will lure them here and kill them," he replied tersely. "I'd rather you not witness it."

"But-"

"Do not fight me, Christine. It will be easier if you go."

Though she still looked hesitant, Christine nodded. Before turning to leave, she went to Erik, looking into his eyes.

"I am sorry for the pain that I caused you, Erik..." she whispered.

"It is already forgiven, Christine."

A look of relief passed over her face, and she stood on tiptoe and—to Erik's complete shock—kissed his marred cheek. Then, without another word, she was gone.

* * *

next up: a confrontation, of sorts. :) 


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